


Amor Ch'a Nullo Amato Amar Perdona (Love, Which Spares None Of The Loved From Loving In Return)

by asongofstannis



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: A lot of Emotional Torment, Enjoy!, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian, Mostly hurt, a one-shot, but I've already written 66K words and it's going to be three parts, my beta likes it, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 83,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongofstannis/pseuds/asongofstannis
Summary: What if the sweet Sister Mary Eunice decided to talk to Lana after she let her in - and also never got possessed and something sparked between the two among the chaos of being in a mental institution and a murderer on the loose?





	1. Lasciate Ogni Speranza Voi Ch'entrate (Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here)

She had disappointed Sister Jude.

_She had disappointed Sister Jude._

The thought rang in her head, repeating itself like a mantra, or a lash, its whip scarring her back and prickling tears in her eyes, casting a punishment unto her that beat her up to a crying mess. With palms squeezed around the rosary, she prayed, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth wide in a wail at the feeling of suffocation that the guilt brought upon her.

The sound of Sister Jude’s stick on the table echoed through the room and she sobbed. It wasn’t fully the action that made her cry – nor the fact that she had been caught, for she now saw how wrong she had acted, but rather the idea of having disappointed Sister Jude.

Sister Jude was not a woman to disappoint, appointed by God and therefore a representative of God Himself: going against her wishes was akin to going against God.

“You’ve put everything at risk.” _No, no! No, she was so convincing, the journalist, she just wanted to talk to Bloody Face- WRONG!_ “Everything.” Mary Eunice’s face scrunched up at that in a loud wail, but she opened her eyes to watch the Sister, the voice of the latter getting louder as she shouted. “Our _reputation_! The life’s work of our great monsignor, all his future dreams!” _No, please, no._

“I used bad judgement, Sister.” She had trusted the woman to get in and out, had trusted herself to be able to let the woman out without much ado, hadn’t considered how wrong it might be to do in the first place. Oh, it was all her fault!

“Bad judgement?” Sister Jude seethed the words as if she were spitting venom out of her mouth. “Like eating too much cake?” No, now, Mary Eunice knew not to eat cake, she did. “Is that what you mean, Sister?”

“Miss Winters got me very confused!”

 _No._ She hissed in her own mind. It wasn’t true. She had been outside of her own volition, had gone there to act against Sister Jude’s wishes either way, feeding the raspers. Whatever business the journalist had at Briarcliff, she wouldn’t have attended had she, Mary Eunice, not been outside to feed them. Had she not listened to Dr. Arden.

Not that blaming Dr. Arden was any better.

She sobbed, guilty and angry, trying her best and hoping that whatever punishment Sister Jude would hold against her could uphold her of her own crimes, her own stupidity.

And she had to keep on sobbing, had to keep on reprehending herself, her own naivety, as Sister Jude went on to judging her own mistakes, her lack of better judgement. Her own sin of pride for having trusted the young nun.

But Sister Jude was sinless! She had never done anything wrong in her life, ever, Mary Eunice knew that, praised that, kissed the ground upon which the older Sister walked and thanked God for having blessed her with such a great, holy and understanding Superior.

A Superior that had not deserved, by any means, to have Mary Eunice, stupid, stupid Mary Eunice, to bring a curious journalist into their safe House of God, their sanctuary. How could she have disappointed her so?

An underlying, hidden thought also lay beneath, resurfacing with every passing beat but kicked down by the pressing matter of being in Sister Jude’s cold and yet safe office. One she had now ruined, its essence destroyed all by her stupidity. If only she could turn back time and never disappoint the older Sister and free the woman—.

Like a seed that had borne its flower in her heart, her emotions had bloomed into a rotten flower of anger, pain and wrongness, which heaved on her stomach and constricted her throat, suffocating her. Cause she had been stupid. And she deserved a punishment.

It was only right: nuns were always taught that pain brought man closer to God, for in pain had Jesus forgiven all our sins and in pain man could understand Him and be with Him, and therefore she needed it. A great deal of it, to repent herself, to remove any dirty stain from her conscience and revive the dead flower within so it could bloom again, live and well.

The cane on the older woman’s desk caught her attention. It was small. Like one she would use for a pickpocket, a child of the streets, not a mature woman who had gone against her so, had disappointed her so. Had let an _intruder_ in—,

“It’s not big enough, Sister,” she said, softly, grimacing as another sob racked her body. The choking feeling each sob brought with it being acting as penitence.

She stood up, abruptly, the older Sister regarding her in bewilderment with wide eyes and mouth agape, as she picked up the small stick and opened the cabinet, bravely. It was full of canes, full of means to punish a stupid, stupid nun such as herself, but she picked out only one, quickly, lest Sister Jude interrupted her and disagreed.

In one swift and unexpected motion, she pulled up her habit and lowered her panties and propped herself on the desk, revealing her rear like a small, misbehaving child that awaited the proper punishment by the hand of their mother. Only physical pain could release her of spiritual sin.

Wailing, she called herself stupid, stupid, stupid. She was. She truly, truly was. What a dummy she had to be, to act like that. She could have not only ruined Sister Jude’s reputation, but also Dr. Arden’s – and the man had been nothing but kind to her, ever since she arrived, always doting on her and trusting her with his secrets. And what a scandal would it have been if the curious journalist had revealed him?

_No, I failed. I failed. But Miss Winters – is Miss Winters at fault, in any way?_

The moment stretched into an eternity, as she waited for the hard cane to come upon her bottom in any second – the sound of it coming down startled her, but it came as a bigger shock when it didn’t hit her. A strong hand pulled down her habit and smacked her on her bottom, the sting tame.

“Stand up and get out. I don’t have time for this.” _What_? She sniffled loudly, confused.

“Too good for me, Sister.” She was, oh, she was. Who else would have forgiven such a dumb child oh-so-quickly? Sister Jude was truly a grace from God.

She bit her lower lip, chastising herself for wishing the Sister had been harder on her, stronger, punishing her for her sins. It did not do well to dwell on things past – and from the other Sister’s body language it was clear the conversation was to be dropped and left in a locket never to be opened again.

“If I ever hear you call yourself stupid again, I’ll cane you bloody.”

It was a warning, Mary Eunice knew, but it almost felt like a promise. She bit her tongue as not to say it again to receive the caning. The Sister would not like it, would be angry at her, and she preferred it when the Sister punished her while still favoring her. Like a doting mother.

 _‘Punishment comes from love, beating some sense into a child is only right, my dear Mary. No nice words will do as much as a bloody belt’,_ her aunt Celeste used to say. Mary Eunice had always considered it right for herself.

Without another bothering word, she walked to the door. For a confirmation that it was over, however, she turned around and lingered. Then, she closed the door slowly and walked as far from the office as she could.

A strong sob shook her from within without any notice and she propped herself against the nearest wall to stabilize her beating heart. The surface was cold, strong, comforting – it grounded her. Tears welled up in her eyes, traitorous, with no reason to exist. They fell, leaving the confinement of her eyes, dropping to the floor with a splash that echoed too loudly in her ears. It was too intrusive.

 _Intrusive_. Like an intruder.

Ever since she had let the woman in and had been separated from her, she couldn’t stop but having _intrusive_ thoughts about her. She worried. Of course, she had no reason to: Sister Jude claimed the journalist was a pervert and Mary Eunice had no right to dispute that, but she did not like judging people, didn’t quite believe that loving someone unconventional was wrong – she loved Jesus and earned a side-glance from a few people when she admitted it and she hardly saw any difference.

 _Stupid_. Her right hand acted on impulse, slapping the other hardly. To avoid further self-induced harm, she clenched her fists tightly and breathed in through her nose slowly.

What was Miss Winters’ fault, truly? _How many more times do you want to ask yourself that?_ Her love for a woman who had betrayed her was not faulty, but Sister Jude said it was and she oughtn’t to disagree. Still, she felt like she owed the woman something: an apology, a kind word, a comforting shoulder – whatever the journalist would to take, she’d give.

She gasped silently. _No_. _I cannot. Sister Jude would hate it. Would hate me. Have I not disappointed her enough?_ Her conscience screamed no, begged her to show some human decency, be a good person for once, instead of a dumb nun that runs in unannounced and lets people in way too easily. Like she had done with Pepper – the former, the kindness, not letting her in, though that had almost happened as well, as the woman often helped her out with many things. But Pepper was a murderer – a child murderer.

“Miss Winters isn’t evil, though,” she said aloud, murmuring the words against the chilly surface of the wall as if she were kissing it, her lips pressed hard and her nose squashed against it. “She has not murdered, has not raped.”

The more she repeated it in her head, the easier it felt to let go of her fear and aid the woman. God would not disapprove of her. Jesus had helped any types of men and women and had brought them to salvation in so many ways, always forgiving. It was only due time that she took care of her own messes – and though it pained her to call Miss Winters a mess, it was also right to help her.

“Is everything alright, Sister?” A cheerful and familiar voice pulled her out of her musings like a kid pulling a cat out of a fish tank. It reminded her of duties she had forgone to wail and drool, dread and dwell – what a disgraceful nun she was becoming. A warm hand on her back grounded her and squeezed softly, in a way of repeating the question. Mary Eunice turned to the slightly older nun, Sister Ambrose, and bobbed her head silently, her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling traitorously.

“Yes, Sister, I was a bit dizzy, ‘s all.” Her teeth dug into her lip harder, drawing blood. _But I am dizzy._ Was that the lie _,_ drowning her like her ex-classmates? Was she stepping away from God’s grace with all those lies?

“I could ask Sister Jude for huh-.”

“No!” Mary Eunice squeaked and widened her eyes. “No, don’t bother her. I just haven’t slept enough and that is clouding my senses.” _It is paired with shame, fear, guilt – guilt directed at Sister Jude, God or even Miss Winters?_ She waved her hand to shoo those intrusive thoughts away. “Nothing that working with patients and a few prayers cannot fix.”

A wrinkle made its way between Sister Ambrose’s eyebrows and she cocked her head to the right, but didn’t comment on it, instead offering a silent comforting nod. “Peace of the Lord be always with you, Sister.”

“And with you also.”

With one thought in mind, she went through the day, aiding patients, playing with Pepper and making bread. And as time came, she broke the Seventh Commandment twice.

 

\--

 

Wendy. Wendy had betrayed her. Wendy had signed the papers. Wendy had locked her up at Briarcliff, because her job was more important. Wendy had chosen her own reputation over her girlfriend – one she had been with for long enough that Lana would have thought it obvious that they’d save each other from danger, sacrificing everything they had in order to save the other.

That’s what she would have done, at least.

Giant, twin tears burned her cheeks in their wake, their journey to the pillow quick but painful enough. A pillow she had to lay on not of her own volition, some nails stuck to her head to keep her from moving.

She was trapped. That bitch nun said so, she would stay here for a long time. For a long recovery.

Recovery? Yes, she’d need years to recover from this position, this pain, this betrayal. How could she?

Deep in her heart she knew, though she daren’t admit it, that Wendy had had no choice. And had probably something planned to get her out, a crazy jailbreak that would end up in a gratifying make-out session. Then, she’d tear this place apart, show their monstrosities, call the cops on them. Fuck that smirking bitch nun. What was her name? Judas?

No, that was Wendy.

Sister Jude. What a fucking magnificent bitch. With her straight, white teeth and small lips, grinning like a wolf at a fawn. But she had messed with the wrong fawn, for she had antlers and she was ready to stab a bitch. As soon as she was out of this bed and walking.

There was something about the woman – she held power and she wielded it like a staff, a Godly crown in the form of a coif and veil and she sat on a throne of lies: Wendy couldn’t have betrayed her so, the writing could have been forged. She couldn’t believe it otherwise.

The way she seethed words – Lana had seen many men in the business world who acted like her: speaking through their teeth, their lies spreading like cobwebs and catching onto weak flies, like that one nun Lana had seen out in the woods. The one that had let her in, under her own manipulations – a weakling, always in a hurry, always scared, like a weak little bunny. Always afraid of the giant, blonde wolf that would rip her apart if she made a wrong turn.

Stupid nun.

She didn’t feel like it was her fault she had been caught, not really – it was her own fault she had entered this mess and that bitchy nun’s fault that she was stuck. And that monster. What was it? The bitchy nun didn’t believe she had been attacked – didn’t believe or didn’t dare admit to it, yet another lie hidden beneath the snowy surface of a cute bakery and a nice asylum with serial killers sleeping their sentences away like cuckoos, instead of frying on chairs.

Yes, it was all Bloody Face’s fault. Kit Walker. That man had no good bone in his body and yet he denied his position in the deaths of all those women.

Men were always like that, lying scums. They were built of bones and evil, she knew. Them along with nuns.

So, she screamed. She screamed with a passion against Bloody Face, whose murders had denied her freedom as much as the one of those women, their skins ripped from their bodies so precisely, their heads cut off like a show – she screamed because she didn’t belong in such a place, didn’t belong in confinement in general and above all, did not deserve to be tied up for loving who she loved.

If God was oh-so-good, shouldn’t that nun release her? Religion was just a mask to hide hatred behind. A nice, beautiful mask that covered the dead rotten flesh of bigotry and pain and self-disrespect and corruption of the Holy Church of God. Praise Him!

Anyone who hid behind the face of religion to praise bigotry was as doomed to go to Hell as any other.

“Help me!” She screamed, pleading for someone to see how corrupted it was, how wrong. She screamed and begged for someone to know. But it burned her throat and caught her tears into a lump that choked her and she knew her resolve would break before anybody saved her.

She heard the bitchy nun talk to a familiar voice near the door and she wanted the woman to come back, show her bloody grinning face so she could spit at it and be freed, like she deserved. She didn’t belong in this place, for God’s sakes!

If God existed, then he certainly had a quirky way of showing his love for everybody, her own suffering lungs threatening to collapse under her cries. Anger and pain were all brought into her wails, their power echoing in the small, otherwise silent room.

Which was silent no more, as it was opened carefully by a small, graceful hand that slowly revealed the face of that stupid nun who had let her in.

Lana stopped mid-sentence and choked on it, widening her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She gritted through her teeth, clenching her jaw tightly, mistrustful.

A white, scared face was masked in the darkness of the room, no proper source of light to illuminate her and yet she shone a sort of light from within, innocent – naïve, like a child. And children were not trustworthy, what with their tricks and lies. Lana would bet half a penny the nun had many skeletons in her closet that were just ready to come out.

_Perhaps the nun is the skeleton ready to come out._

She didn’t snort, though she normally would have.

The nun bit her lower lip worriedly and only then did Lana notice how oddly she walked, as if she was hiding something. Something material. Her stance was tilted to the left and she held an arm tightly embraced around her belly, like a pregnant woman protecting her child. Except the nun was supposedly chaste and awfully young, so unless a guard, prisoner or priest had had her knocked up, she was to expect an object of a different sort, different kind.

“What do you want?” Her voice was broken, wavering, staggered and whiny, like a petulant child. _I’m not a child._ _Fuck her._ _Can’t she speak? Did the Devil bite her tongue?_

As if sensing Lana’s questions within, the nun opened her mouth, only to close it again. She turned around and put a hand under her habit.

“I thought nuns were chaste, not in the habit of masturbating in front of recovering homosexuals,” she spat, but it sounded weak still, as if the bitchy old Jude nun had taken all her sarcasm and transformed it into mush. What was she without her sarcasm, her mind? Without her ability to give off power while speaking, she was null.

The young nun blushed a warm tinge of red, shaking her head. “I buh-brought you something,” she said softly, her voice small and scared. She walked over to Lana’s bed and sat on it, right next to Lana’s chest. “I- It’s not much, but it’s all I could gather around here, sorry.”

It was bread. Simple, cold bread, not even fresh out of the oven.

Lana spat on it.

She wasn’t in the mood for bread from cowardly nuns with no spine.

“You can take it for yourself,” she gulped, but her stomach growled angrily at her, reminding her that in her haze she had barely eaten any lunch and God knows how much had passed since then. The nun heard it as well, but did her best to hide it, a thoughtful look drawn across her youthful features.

Without any sort of announcement, the young nun’s rack covered her view and she was close to complaining, until she felt a click and one of the nails holding her head still – released her. And then another – and another. Until her tiara was completely out of view – and so was the rack.

“I thought it might bring you better comfort to eat without that,” noticed the nun softly.

 _What the fuck does she want?_ If she feared she would reveal her dumb escapade – that was all but forgotten and she didn’t even care about it. Without it, she wouldn’t have found such easy access to Briarcliff, after all.

And she wouldn’t have been caught.

“I don’t need your pity,” Lana croaked out.

The young nun put a hand on her thighs, looking down in shame. Her face was like an illustrated book, all her expressions as easy to read and see as those of a children’s book. She was transparent, without any secrets. And it now showed her disappointment, with her lower lip tightly pulled by her teeth and her eyebrows furrowed.

“I am just trying to be nice, ‘s all,” the young nun murmured, uncertain, her blue eyes now facing Lana. They were bright with new tears, big and innocent. “I don’t think this place is nice enough to people, sometimes.”

Lana scoffed, but offered no quip.

“Will you try to kill me if I free your hands?” _No, I will successfully kill you. You’re so weak I could probably strangle you in a few seconds and drag your body around the whole castle before the Ice Queen notices you’re gone and then I’d strangle her with your rosary as a cherry on top of the cake._

She shook her head. Perhaps the nun spoke truthfully and simply wanted to help her – perhaps she was doing it for personal gain, but she would rather eat stale bread than stay here in pain.

Actually, she could probably do the latter quite easily, but offered the chance – and the chance being given by Sister Doe Eyes and not Sister Bitch – she didn’t quite want to deny it. Her stale walls, crumbling, for _bread_. Victor Hugo would be proud.

Something about the nun’s small voice and innocent attitude seemed trustworthy.

“I won’t if you promise me something,” Lana offered with a tired sigh, her eyes closing as a new wave of inadvertent sadness came over her. She felt weak, useless. She couldn’t even free her own hands without help. Couldn’t even escape her prison without aid.

“Anything.”

Lana’s heart squeezed at the kindness within the statement. _Anything_. No questions asked, just a promise.

“Promise me you’ll do anything to—.”

“Free you. Yes.” The nun bobbed her head. _Pinky promise?_ A childish part of her wanted to ask. But her pinky was still in its uncomfortable position and they were not children. “Just—just give me time. I’m not brave enough right now and Sister Jude would just _kill_ me. Or worse, hate me.”

Lana croaked out a bitter laugh, her chest shaking. No, she didn’t hold out hope that the naïve nun would have spine, but having an ally was good.

“If you’re so afraid of Sister Jude why are you…” She trailed off, gasping for air as the position made itself known again with the young nun accidentally moving on the bed. Lana’s muscles strained as she tugged on the straps – perhaps in hope that the young nun would finally take the hint and free her, or perhaps because she thought it would finally release her. It was as pointless as trying to kiss Wendy with the blinds open time and time again, each time expecting a different outcome.

“She’s-,” the nun bit her lower lip, clearing her throat. “Buh- b-busy.” _No. I didn’t mean that._

“I meant – why are you helping _me_?” A confused expression crawled upon the young nun’s face and drew wrinkles, dimples and what-not. Lana sighed, offering an explanation, “By all accounts, I’m recovering here as a homosexual. The Bible judges that, doesn’t it? ‘ _Thou shalt not fucketh thy same sex neighbor’_ , or something.”

“’Thou shalt not lie with male as with a woman; it is an abomination’,” corrected Sister Innocence quickly.

Lana rolled her eyes; she wanted to poke the sack of flour, wanted to spill all of it. “Exactly. Then why are you here?”

“’Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs.’ The Lord made us in His image and He loves us all equally; He does not judge – He is kind and patient with us and we should be kind and patient with all those around us.” Blue eyes sought brown ones, the words of kindness and selflessness written in the iris and making Lana’s stomach squeeze tightly. “I owe you for having let you in – I don’t care who you love, as I love Jesus and He preaches nothing but goodness.”

“Amen, Sister.” _Sister Horrible should take lessons from you_ , she wanted to add, but she was afraid the young nun would go into a fit trying to defend the older nun’s honor – and she was not in the mood of idolatry.

The nun smiled at her softly and finally freed her from her chains, one by one and, when released, Lana did her best not to jump on her. She wouldn’t deserve it.

Bite by bite, she ate the bread as if it were her last meal and when the nun strapped her again and left with a soft, comforting smile, Lana didn’t feel as empty.

The nun had promised her anything, and Lana really needed a fucking phone call to Wendy.

 

\--

 

“You’re being watched,” Grace, another patient, the sanest among the other cuckoos, explained after having stolen the piece of paper Lana had been writing on.

Writing was the only thing that kept her from going insane and it helped her memorize things better, as well, in case she was given a phone by Sister Naivety and called Wendy – or anybody who could help her.

Lana cast a side glance towards the point Grace had indicated and snorted, grabbing the other woman’s wrist tightly and releasing the piece of paper. She glared at her challengingly, her gaze fixed on the other woman’s as if daring her to take it back again.

“Geez, I’m just trying to help you,” scoffed the young woman, taking a step back from Lana and sitting down on a chair in front of her, covering Sister Naivety’s view of Lana. Despite the awkward situation, the journalist could not help but appreciate the sentiment behind it. “I’m telling you,” she started, propping her elbows on the table, “that nun is very close to Jude – runs to her with everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if she told her about your stupid diary. And that one,” Grace tilted her head towards another young nun with black hair, “Charity – she’s not as close, but her tongue is loose.”

“Sister Naivety won’t talk,” grumbled Lana, folding the piece of paper and sneaking a glance towards Sister Charity before hiding it in her gown.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just know.”

“Then you’re the naïve one,” admitted Grace, sitting back on her hair and observing Lana with semi-closed eyes. Her eyes studied the journalist’s face in an attempt to decipher her, the intensity of the scrutiny enough to make anyone shift – but Lana didn’t bulge, instead offering an equal scrutiny back.

When the younger woman sighed and averted her gaze, Lana did as well, her eyes lingering on the young naïve nun who had been bringing her ‘snacks’ every day for the past six days. They hadn’t yet found a way to use a phone and Lana knew well enough that the young Sister would need days – or weeks – to grow a spine.

Buying time and toying with those moments of peace in which she wasn’t listening to _Dominique_ nor she was being caned by Sister Jude for speaking out of turn, Lana was planning her own escape, her own route – her own way to contact someone. Sister Young was an ally and a nice acquaintance, her hands gentle when she cleaned her wounds and her gaze dreamy when she spoke to her, giving her a sort of feeling of solace, but she was under no impression that her aid would be in any way gratifying nor complete.

It took months to train a dog some tricks and years to teach a child how to speak – if Sister Naivety needed to be taught out of her own habits, she couldn’t take neither months nor years. Lana didn’t have as much time.

“She’s a nun, you know?” Grace quipped with a stupid grin and Lana shook out of her daze to frown. “I know you’ve been locked in here for homosexuality – it wouldn’t do you well if you fucked—.”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Grace shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “You should tell her off – that’s all I mean. You can’t have allies here. They’re all scum and they’ll stab you in the back before you even make a move. Don’t let sweet Virgin Mary Eunice fool you. Her Sister Innocence attitude is cute and she’s overall kind – I don’t mean she isn’t. Probably the nicest here. But she’s weak and runs to her mommy Jude at the first sign of trouble.”

Lana tapped a finger on her thigh, a quirky smile drawing on her lips. Her eyes glinted mischievously as she set them upon the younger woman. “You’ve tried fucking her as well, is that how you know?”

“I don’t fuck with nuns,” gritted Grace.

“No, only with serial killers.”

Grace eyed her darkly, her eyes now ablaze with a fiery passion and she opened her mouth to dispute that, but Lana wasn’t in the mood to listen to her stupid defenses of Bloody Face. She stood up and straightened her gown, sparing no last glance to the talking woman whose sentence had been cut short and walked over to Sister Naivety’s confused but rather gruntled face.

“You should stop staring at me, Sister,” said Lana with a half-smile, wondering when in the past days had it become easy to smile the least bit honestly in a place like this. “They’re going to think you’re having an affair with the dyke.”

The young nun choked and coughed, her cheeks flushing a furious red at the statement and she averted the journalist’s gaze helplessly.

Lana propped herself against the bland wall and eyed the nun, taking pity upon her poor soul, “I won’t tell anyone of our little snacks if you won’t,” she offered.

“Yes,” Sister Naivety laughed slightly, a sweet smile blooming on her youthful face wrinkling the skin near the eyes and she bobbed her head in agreement, “our little snacks. They’re our secret. I can keep secrets.”

Lana laughed at that, bitterly. She surely hoped the nun had the guts to keep secrets. She supposed she had to, what with the secrets she and Dr. Arden had. How she managed to speak to the man without getting the creeps, Lana couldn’t quite understand, but she was not going to ruin her little alliance by speaking out of turn about the only man the young woman seemed to trust. Despite there being no logic behind it.

“Have you found a way to sneak a call for me yet?”

The nun’s gaze smile fell and was replaced by a scowl – not a threatening one, nor in any way cruel, rather painful, disappointed – but in herself. “Not yet,” she whispered under her breath, her eyes bright with tears and her lips pursed tight. Lana didn’t comment on that, limiting herself to a nod and sigh.

“Well,” she grimaced and continued loudly enough for those nearby to hear, “thank you for your advice, Sister. Three rosaries indeed do seem like a great solution to my inversion. If only my momma had taught me how to pray.”

The nun blushed even a darker shade and lowered her head with a half-smile that she hid behind her hands. “Peace be always with you, Miss Winters.”

“Yes, with you, too.” Then, in an almost silent whisper, she added, “Now go play with Pepper or something – and stop staring at me.”

She was literally the worst ally ever, with her transparent face and her dreamy gaze, but Lana needed her – and didn’t hate spending time with her, so she had to keep on going.

 

\--

 

 

The grim walls of Dr. Arden’s office cast dark shadows even in the morning light, the phone on his desk looking like a holy apparition in the eeriness of it all. It was not a comforting room, though Mary Eunice often found solace in the appreciation the older man seemed to uphold for her, but it was a frightening place without him in it and despite being accompanied by Miss Winters, Mary Eunice found herself wishing she were elsewhere, perhaps having chosen a different phone.

As it was, however, mere nuns were not allowed personal phone calls unless there were emergencies, and they were always to refer to Sister Jude. Thus such situations where a nun might find herself calling someone illegally were simply out of the ordinary, rare – prohibited.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Sister,” quipped the dark haired journalist whose light had slightly reappeared in her eyes at the prospect of calling her lover.

It had taken Mary Eunice two weeks to arrange it, with Dr. Arden always on duty and always at Briarcliff even without any duties and Sister Jude breathing on her neck lest she tripped once again and let an intruder in. And now a family emergency at Dr. Arden’s house and Sister Jude’s personal care for Mr. Walker had given her the chance to help the poor journalist.

Setting up an escapade with a patient was not easy: the woman had been whispering around to her for days, pleading and mocking, but it did give her a reason not to be alone – and that was nice. Mary Eunice often caught her own hand before she touched the woman, not wanting to put her off in any way, however, fearing an outburst.

Dr. Arden was a good friend, as well, but sometimes he uneased her with his dry hands on her shoulder and his grin anytime she agreed with him.

She did like agreeing with people, finding it hard to say ‘no’. Aunt Celeste used to say it’d lead her to an early grave, her openness to everything, her inability to refuse, but Mary Eunice liked calling it kindness.

It was also why she was standing, frozen in panic, in Dr. Arden’s office, her eyes wide and mouth agape, a hand on her rosary and another on Miss Winters’ arm as she trembled to her very bones at the prospect of using a phone. Illegally.

 _Thou shalt not covet your neighbor’s goods._ Tenth commandment.

How many more commandments was she to break before her lash broke down on her bloodied shoulder and left her with no comfort of spiritual release? How many more nights would she spend sleepless in her bed, because she could not tend to her back – and could not forgo punishment either, as she kept committing sins?

“I don’t like this place right now,” Mary Eunice admitted under her breath, her voice small and quivering, her eyes gazing at the phone as if it were an indulgent sweet that she ought not eat.

“Let’s just get on with it,” scoffed the journalist, making her way towards the forbidden phone without further ado. Mary Eunice gasped and let go of the woman’s forearm. She nodded, more to herself than to the other, stepping quickly to the door to watch out.

There was not much time – and she told Miss Winters that, stressing out the fact just how worrisome it would be if they were caught. But the corridor to Dr. Arden’s office was empty and no nun in her right mind inched closer to it by no account – the older man being quite a feared figure among Sisters. Mary Eunice had had to steal his keys to even gain access to it.

Again, the Seventh Commandment.

She didn’t want to listen to the other woman, didn’t quite feel like it was her business, so she bit her lower lip and observed the shadows that the trees cast through the grates at the windows. They moved ever so quickly with the wind, the colors changing and the shapes muting before her eyes, mesmerizing. Just as beautiful as any life that came to be, like little children – or birds and fish.

“Fucking hell!” The journalist’s loud remark tore through the silence and Mary Eunice jumped, tightening her hold on the door, checking if anybody had heard them, then turned to the woman and silently prayed her to keep quieter. “Stupid-fucking-phone.”

Mary Eunice’s nerves were spiking, like water on a fire she was now on the verge of boiling and bursting into nervous tears that would embarrass not only her but also the other woman. Her hands trembled when she heard the other woman kick the desk and she jumped when she heard a curse.

Her back was cold with sweat and she wished she had her lash right now, so she could release herself of this torment, the comforting sting it left on her shoulders being a blessing sent from God. Was God judging her now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he? She had broken into an office, had stolen goods. So many commandments broken.

 _Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee_ , she thought, tightening her eyes, only to open them again when she remembered she was supposed to keep watch. With an impulsive slap on her hand, Mary Eunice chastised herself and continued the prayer, unbothered, taught from young age to do anything along with prayer. _Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb—._

“Jesus!” Miss Winters exclaimed rather loudly, her hand smacking the desk. “She’s not responding. And it’s past work time, it is, she should be responding. And I tried calling my editor, Walt, as well, but he’s not answering either, something about the line being busy. I’m in _hell_ and neither can _bother_ to answer a _damned phone_?”

Mary Eunice pleaded her silently to keep quiet, not trusting her voice not to break if she spoke aloud, resuming her silent prayer and casting a side-glance to the corridor, her eyes widening. _Holy—._

 _“Mary_ Eunice, Sister!” Sister Miriam’s voice echoed in the Hall and Mary Eunice stood straight, her back hitting the door as she backed up against it in fear, her eyes casting a furtive glance towards the journalist, who had ducked under the desk. “What in God’s name are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Mary Eunice gulped down, a lump in her throat impeding it. She trembled like a leaf, head to toe, and she bit her bottom lip nervously. Her only hope was that Sister Miriam, a good friend of Sister Jude, had not caught on to what she was doing. Quickly, she answered the question.

“I was looking for Dr. Arden!” She squeezed her hands around her rosary, the prayer tumbling in her mind and calming her nerves. “Yuh-yesterday, he said he wanted to show me something and t-told me to come over as soon as I was done with my d-duties.”

Sister Miriam regarded her with a scowl, like a predator smelling the lies coming out of her mouth. Whatever thought came through her mind, however, did not come out through her mouth. “He has had a situation and had to leave. I thought you knew that.”

Mary Eunice shook her head violently, her lower lip now quivering as she averted the older woman’s gaze to avoid crying. She was a good nurse, that nun, old, short and plump and would surely tell about this to Sister Jude – but she would take that, would accept that. Perhaps a beating was all she needed.

“How did you gain access to his office, anyway?” Sister Miriam raised her eyebrows pointedly. Not only had Mary Eunice predicted she would ask that, but she foresaw the further statement – and yet it made her shiver. “He keeps it locked.”

“He must have left it open in his haste to leave,” lied Mary Eunice through her teeth, though they clattered like a keyboard.

The plump Sister sighed and shook her head. “I’ll go fetch the keys and lock it and you go to Sister Jude. She’s expecting you with some pressing matter and seems rather unhappy, so do _not_ , under _any_ circumstance, make her wait.” She gazed Mary Eunice down hardly, a pointed look on her face and the young nun nodded hastily.

As if battling a battle of wills that only one party was aware of, the nun stood in place, until she finally yielded and walked away, her feet stomping on the marble floor loudly and only when she was out of the view, did Mary Eunice release her breath.

“I—I am very sorry, I can’t do this, Miss Winters, I’m sorry,” muttered the innocent nun, her eyes pleading the other woman to understand.

“We can do it another time, it’s okay,” said the journalist as she slowly eased herself out from under the desk.

Mary Eunice shook her head. “No, I can’t- I can’t do this again, not this, it was torture.” She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the disappointment on the other woman’s beautiful face. “I want to help you- I will, I will do anything, but—.”

A warm finger on her lips stopped her rambling and she opened her eyes, widening them in shock at the comprehension she saw in Miss Winters’ eyes. The brown of her iris was set on the blue of hers and it locked, serious, as if trying to convey a message.

“You’ve helped. That’s more than anybody.” _But not enough._ “I’ll find somebody else to help me somehow, whatever.” She smiled sadly and looked away. “I’ve got to run, before Sister Fat catches me.”

Mary Eunice’s heart thumped in her chest and it felt like it would rip her ribcage apart with its strength. She put a hand on it and let a tear roll down her cheeks. Then, before the woman could take the last turn, she called: “Miss Winters?”

The woman stopped in her path and, with a hand on the nearest wall, she eyed her curiously, those brown eyes sadder than they should ever be.

“I do want to help you. I will. I _promise_.”

 

\--

 

_“Get them off! Help me! Help me! Stop! Stop! This woman is a kidnapper! She blackmailed my lover into committing me! Please help me, I don’t belong here!” Large hands held her down as Dr. Arden worked some lubricant on her temples. She thrashed on the bed, trying to kick them away, her screams futile and their hands too strong to fight them off._

_The fuzzy figure of Sister Horrible in the distance, watching like a guardian Angel made want to scream more, but Dr. Arden put a gag in her mouth, commenting about her noisiness to the nun, a grim grin on his old lips, his goatee hovering over as he walked to the wall to pull in some wires._

_Suddenly, the nun walked over and glanced down upon her, her scowl so similar to Sister Naivety, the dimples on her cheeks pronounced by the grimace and her blonde eyebrows pulled together. Her brown eyes gazed at her intently as Dr. Arden gave her some sort of object that looked like earmuffs. Upon his command, she put it on her temples and Lana screamed._

_But her eyes couldn’t close, though she fought hard. She squeezed them, but they remained open as a mind-shattering, hideous pain akin to being burned by a stove – but heightened – shook her entire body. Lana wailed, tried to look away, but Sister Horrible’s face was fixed on her and it was weird, younger. Prettier._

_It was not Sister Jude anymore. It was the young nun, staring her down with sad, doe eyes. A tear fell on Lana’s face and she tried to look away, but Sister Naivety grabbed her by the temples, pressing the earmuffs harder, a cruel grin now spreading across her face. It hurt more than the electroshock – as crazy as it sounded._

_A river of tears flooded her face as a cruel laugh echoed in the room, the young nun’s soft voice turned evil, sadistic. She caressed her cheeks with suddenly extremely long claws, drawing blood and it mixed with the salty tears, the combination tasting bitterly in her mouth – it choked her._

_She tried to cough, free herself of the iron taste mixed with salt, but the room was now flooded completely, Dr. Arden floating on it like Jesus, his feet straight on the water. He grabbed Sister Naivety and pulled her away from Lana, but that didn’t stop the electricity from going through her body._

_The water along with the electricity somehow set the room ablaze with fire, its heat radiating onto Lana’s now bare body. Sister Naivety touched her shoulders and shook her, a grin still plastered on her crying face, the tears streaming down like a cascade, her teeth looking like rocks that tear a waterfall apart._

_“You’re a pervert, a_ deviant _, a filthy little_ dyke _,” the young nun spat, water dripping onto Lana’s already wet face. “I should have left you for the monsters in the woods, should have let you be ripped apart. You disgusting_ freak _! Can’t even tell dream and reality apart.”_

What _?_

 _Lana thrashed, hit her head on the surface of the cold stool, but it was softer than she expected it to be. The nun’s cold hand touched her face and inched closer. “Wake up! Are you stupid?_ Wake up, Miss Winters, it’s all okay!”

Lana gasped for air, choking on her own tears, their taste mixed with something that seemed to be blood, its source unknown. The light of the day blinded and dizzied her and she tried to cover her eyes, but it was not needed, as a body soon covered the light’s view, casting a shade for her.

Her eyelashes were wet and her vision was blurry and she had to blink several times, still breathing in and out with great difficulty, the soft voice of the young nun who had made her dark appearance in her dream unmistakable. She was standing next to her, saying something, but Lana couldn’t concentrate.

“I—,” she stuttered, her mouth feeling numb. “I was- you were-.”

Sister Naivety – no, Sister Maria Elijah, that was her name, she _knew_ that – put a hand on her shoulder and smiled weakly. _Wait. Mary Eunice. Fucking hell, Lana. Get a grip._

The other woman’s scent filled her nose in a way of grounding her but it only made her dizzy: she smelled of the woods and something sweet, sinful.

“You were having a bad dream right here in the ward,” admitted Sister Mary Eunice. “I couldn’t wake you up, I had to shake you. I’m sorry.”

That made sense, though Lana couldn’t quite understand why she was bothering to wake her up at all. Lana had just gone through a great ordeal – had been electroshocked, for fuck’s sakes! Flooded by the Sister’s tears- no, that was the dream, right? Sister Mary Eunice hadn’t been there, when she was electroshocked.

That was Sister Jude. With her calm and sadism, her lack of compassion, her blackmailing and her manipulation. Sister Mary Eunice wouldn’t have done that to her, had rather cleaned her wounds afterwards without asking any questions. Sister Mary Eunice didn’t judge her based on her sexuality.

 _“You’re a pervert, a deviant, a filthy little dyke.”_ The young nun’s voice echoed in her head like a song stuck on the radio. Like that damned _Dominique_. She hadn’t truly said that, right?

“You insulted me.”

The young nun gasped, gaping. “No, no-no, I would never, no.”

 _No_? No, it had been a dream, of course. Her grip on reality was weakening, her hands slowly letting go of the one thing she had valued most in herself: her sanity. Her clarity of mind. Her memory. And the bitchy nun had also stripped her of her written memories.

 _Written_.

Lana straightened in her seat and grabbed the young nun’s hand. “I need a pen.” Giant tears betrayed her and cut her cheeks like burning hot knives, her cheeks stinging at their wake. “And some paper. I need to write this down.”

She could still taste the burning feeling of electricity in her mouth and could hear the buzz crackling around her. Looking down at her hands, she was surprised to already find herself holding a pen and she soon found a piece of paper as well. Embarrassed, she let go of the woman’s hand.

“Your hand is weird, gluey,” admitted Lana and she looked to the side to avoid seeing any emotion on the nun’s face. She didn’t like how transparent she was. In such a moment, she would rather have a more stoic presence, one that could ground her, instead of making her feel even weaker.

Sister Mary Eunice apologized, again, as she always did. Always apologized. Was her conscience as heavy? “Dr. Arden—.”

Lana glared at her instantaneously, making to stand up, but her head felt heavy and her vision was blurry once again, distorting her view of reality: the young nun now appeared doubled, colored in reds and blues and her worried expression widened and then thinned itself before her. Like in a dream.

“Don’t—,” she started when the young nun inched closer to her. Lana gasped for air, finding it hard to speak. “Don’t _touch_ me. I’m your _patient_ and your _precious_ friend just gave me my due treatment, so I would be quite happy if you left me alone.” This time, she managed to say it all in one breath, with no interruption, though tears fell down her wounded cheeks and burned her like coal anyway.

Her attention turned to Kit Walker walking to a chair behind her to speak with Grace – with whom she hadn’t spoken much after their little row in the ward a few weeks prior – and the presence of the young nun suddenly felt like a trap, like being electroshocked again and so she waved her hand weakly to shoo her away.

“Leave me alone.”

The tone was final; her eyes bore into the blue – now glassy – eyes of the young nun.

Sister Mary Eunice widened her eyes in confusion, her hand reaching out to Lana, but the latter slapped it again. “You’re distracting me. I wouldn’t want to forget what your _friend_ did to me.”

The Sister visibly swallowed a lump down in her throat and used her doe eyes to beg her for some explanation, but Lana offered none. She had not presented anything to the nun – the electroshock, the nightmares, the distortions – and though it had happened merely a day ago, she expected the latter to know what had gone down. She was, after all, both Sister Jude’s and Dr. Arden’s favorite. And even if they hadn’t told her anything, what did she think her burns were from? Baking bread?

“I don’t know what I did – nor what _he_ or _she_ did,” Sister Mary Eunice started, averting her gaze, “but I do apologize.”

Lana didn’t spare her a glance, as she concentrated on Grace and Kit instead, their voices clearer now that the nun was gone out of her mind’s eye.

They were planning an escape. Bloody Face was convincing that poor woman that he was innocent, not even able to fake crazy, never mind killer – Grace was his next victim, the next skinned head used as a mask.

Lana closed her eyes, already knowing what she would do.

And her chance came in the baths.

The water was hot. Nay, more. It was like reliving the whole ordeal of the electroshock again, only worse. It hurt her, it burned her burns – it scalded her more than it should. And she couldn’t even move.

She was trapped, like everywhere in that damned place. The cover over the bathtub kept the heat inside and allowed only her head out. The Sisters claimed it opened pores and cleaned the dirt properly, like boiling ice so it would be free of all viruses. It was also clever: if they strapped them down and gave them no way to escape, they wouldn’t have to constantly watch them, allowing themselves games of cards or moments of prayer – or whatever it was that nuns did to pass the time. Be it singing holy prayers to Jesus or dancing with the hula hoop – she did not care.

But she was not stuck alone and neither with too many people. Actually, only one, particular person: Grace.

Grace, who had just cut through the fabric of the cover and freed herself – Lana found herself at a loss of words.

The woman was beautiful, graceful just like her name – with soft, creamy features, a round bum and small tits. She walked like a model, a star and yet her eyes had no spark, her name had no fame. Only dark shapes under her eyes and yellowish skin on her face, worn-down by this nuthouse.

Lana moved the fabric away from her chest, hearing the woman speak but not listening, her mind empty in shock and admiration. How long must have the woman lived in this place to learn such tricks and walk around without the fear of being caught? Lana had so much to learn; a part of her wanted to, just like it had by letting the stupid, traitorous nun in when she accepted her small but obvious offers of friendships – and another just wanted to be gone, so that the matter of learning would not even need to arise.

“Do you ever dream of escaping?” Her voice was akin to a whisper, barely registered by the other woman, but she had heard her and was already quipping a witty and bitter remark about the hopes and dreams of all those who were new.

“There’s no way out.”

And yet Lana had seen it, with her own eyes, had followed Sister Judas through it and had been promptly abandoned by her thereafter. And then she remained stuck here, because of some creature that she was now convinced must have been Dr. Arden’s. That stupid nun and her faith for that man would the death of her.

“There’s a tunnel. I came in through it,” Lana admitted, hastily making her way to the pipes onto which Grace had propped herself. “Sister Naivety led me.” Grace scoffed. “Don’t trust me, but I know the way and I know you want to go as much as I do. So what do you say?”

“Only if we take Kit with us.”

 _No_. That was out of the question. Bloody Face could rot in this place for as long as he liked – or didn’t – and Lana wouldn’t bat an eye for him. Grace could hold onto her precious serial killer boyfriend, but Lana was a woman – a woman who happened to love another woman and she could not, in any way, let such a dangerous man out. The idea of Wendy—. Tears welled up in her eyes at the idea of Wendy ever dying, let alone at the hands of such a monster.

She didn’t say all of that aloud, resuming it into a simple ‘Absolutely not’ followed by: “He’s a vicious murderer. They can make you believe anything.”

Grace had rather an idea that they could make you believe anything the other way around. But it was planned anyway. Lana had a tunnel and Grace wanted through it – she would have to respect her terms.

 

\--

 

Mary Eunice walked without a real purpose, the walls closing in upon her and squeezing her tight into a choking hold, her breath coming in rasps and huffs.

 _Dr. Arden has electroshocked Miss Winters._ And Mary Eunice had accepted a bite of his candy apple.

How filthy that sounded now, disgusting – tempting like Satan tempted Eve to take the bite of the apple of wisdom.

Perhaps that was who he was: Satan. Smart, changing his skin like a snake, charming so he could tempt the innocent and naïve woman into sin – and Mary Eunice had fallen into his grasp like a rabbit eaten by a snake. So weak and stupid. And now Miss Winters hated her.

It hurt more than the cane. Why did it hurt so much? The woman did not belong in this place and had been tortured, physically and mentally beyond many other patients. What kind of monster was she, to keep her inside? Perhaps all she needed was to cause a distraction: Miss Winters would take the bait, wouldn’t she? She’d catch onto it and rather than die, like a fish, she’d jump back into the ocean.

She had cleaned the woman’s wounds – and hadn’t asked questions. How awfully stupid of her not to ask, to presume it had been from a row with some other patients – of course Dr. Arden would have done that. Hadn’t she seen an enough fair share of electroshock burns?

_You ignored them, like you ignore everything. You trust him blindly and take everything for granted. Kindness, humanity. God-given goodness._

Mary Eunice gulped and cleaned her eyes with the sleeve of her habit, her tears wetting the fabric and making it itchy.

By putting a hand on the wall, she stabilized herself and sniffed loudly. Somehow, the Lord had guided her towards the electric system center, many plugs scattered around like a crazy game of clue where one particular clue would lead to revealing the murderer – or such.

It undoubtedly must have been the Lord gently sending her along this path, for she was quite certain she had never truly stood here before, the green, red and yellow colors unfamiliar before her eyes. She wondered which plugs and wires were connected to her place in Heaven – and if they hadn’t been cut by some intrusive hand. Some big, white hand that belonged to Dr. Arden.

Slowly, she walked over to the different wires and prayed.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name.” _Lead me to the right wire, guide my hand so that I will free her, as she deserves it_. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” She could feel the buzz on her fingers and she wasn’t sure whether it was the Lord’s hand taking hers or the electricity crackling before her. “Give us this day our daily bread,” her eyes focused on one bright red wire that seemed to hold all the answers to her prayers, “and forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Her fingers inched closer to the wire and she could feel her breath hitching as she whispered the last verse in one breath: “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

The complete darkness that absolved her was a good sign – right?

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her brain a mush and her hand a mess. It burned where she had closed it around the wire and she could feel the wetness of many tears streaming down her face – but she had not crumbled, nor cried out. Like a statue, only sniffling and weeping silently, she stood still. Fear had frozen her.

The sound of loud voices screaming reminded her that she needed to flee the scene.

As she ran across the corridor, she recognized the route near her tunnel, the one that led outside, the one through which she had doomed that poor woman to damnation. Had she gotten the clue? Was she now on her way outside?

“Oh, my word!” Mary Eunice squeaked as she stumbled upon a soft body and she took a step back, her eyes adjusting to the darkness enough to recognize Miss Bertrand. She turned to the left and saw Miss Winters with her as well.

“Oh, come _on,_ can’t you just not get in the way for once?” It was Miss Winters who spoke, her voice angry and tone accusative and Mary Eunice found herself wishing she had known before how much Dr. Arden had harmed the woman. Couldn’t she see that it pained her to know the truth?

“Let’s just knock her out, whatever,” Miss Bertrand proposed, but the journalist shook her head.

“No, she won’t speak a word, will she?”

“What are you doing here?” It was a whole party now. Mary Eunice trembled, making a step back towards to wall, her body too weak to take the pressure of ignoring her duties for three. But she could do it. Mister Walker walking in on them was an accident – and one Miss Winters didn’t seem to approve, therefore Mary Eunice was not at fault.

But she had opened their cages, somehow, hadn’t she? All this chaos, these voices shouting from across the corridor, getting louder – they were her fault.

“If he comes, I’ll scream,” warned Miss Winters, determination bolding her stance and shining in her eyes like a fire. Mary Eunice bit her lower lip, a fire sparking within her as well. Whatever Miss Winters wanted – she’d do. She’d promised.

“Now, _now_.” Mary Eunice widened her eyes and she froze like a deer caught in the headlights, Sister Jude’s voice repeating itself in her head as she stared into the face of the wolf. “What do we have here, Sister?”

What they had, was an immediate removal from the corridor, a reinstitution of the power in the asylum and, above all, Sister Jude’s stern gaze as the three patients sat in the older nun’s office and Mary Eunice beside them, with her hand tight around the rosary, her fingers moving the beads as she whispered silent and quick prayers to God to spare the patients and take her instead.

“-the typical punishment for trying to escape – would be twenty lashes each.” Mary Eunice looked down in shame. “But before I take upon such a cruel and inexplicable punishment,” Sister Jude’s gaze fell upon the young nun, the disappointment written across her face like a lash to the ankle. The young nun sobbed, scrunching up her face, but despite having disappointed the woman, she could not feel sorry for having tried to help Miss Winters – if not for the fact that it had failed, “I would like to ask our Sister Mary Eunice here what was her own telltale of the events – how she would describe them.”

Miss Winters scoffed and murmured something under her breath, to which Sister Jude replied with a loud cane across the table.

“Now, now, Miss Winters, don’t make me regret it. I am sure that with the aid of our dearest Sister we may be able to come across the understanding that it was just a normal stroll in the halls – couldn’t we, Sister?” Mary Eunice furrowed her brows confusedly, halting her thoughts. It was a trap. If she agreed and lied, the Sister would punish them – but if she didn’t agree and told the truth, she would punish them as well.

It was a lose-lose situation.

 _Except it isn’t_. Mary Eunice stepped forward and tightened her hold on her rosary, another prayer to the Lord slipping into her mind. “No, Sister,” she said slowly, her voice quivering and she closed her eyes, before locking her gaze onto the other Sister’s, knowing very well that if she looked towards any of the patients now, she’d waver. “They were not strolling nor were they escaping.”

“Ah, well, then they must have been visions of mine, Sister,” hissed Sister Jude, her accent drawling the words around in a much more offensive way than in any other. It was only right. She deserved it, this and more. As long as the patients were fine, this was alright.

“I lured them into that corridor because I was of the conviction that if I freed them into the real world, this place would be--,” she stopped, biting her tongue, but she had to go on, Sister Jude’s shame-inducing gaze boring into her beating heart and thumping it into a louder beat that drove adrenaline into her veins and spurred her into action. “I thought it would be safer if they left. If Mister Walker and Miss Bertrand did. As for Miss Winters, I--.”

Sister Jude’s cane echoed again in her office, twice, thrice. “Stop, stop, stop! This is- this is _madness_ , Sister. With your reckless actions, you have once again forgone your duties, your faith, our great institution! Will you now tell you that you turned the power off as well?”

Mary Eunice shook her head, looking down at her hand, but it bore no sign of the burn. _This is weird_.

“N-no, Sister,” She wailed.

“No, Sister. No. Do you realize the stakes at which you put us by having done this? How great- these patients are here to be separated from society, because they are dangerous for the public! Mister Walker has killed women, skinned them alive and cut their heads off – Miss Bertrand has killed her family and Miss _Winters_ is a little deviant, perverted homosexual. Is that the kind of people you want to release into the world?”

Mary Eunice pointed slowly at the cane and whispered: “Punish me, Sister.”

“For all of them?” A frightening grin appeared on the woman’s lips, but it was not a happy one: she was nervous, angry. _I hope she won’t hate me forever_. “I should have you removed from the order.”

“No! I- I won’t do it again, I promise. Punish me in any way – cane me bloody and have me stranded to a bed for weeks but please, oh, Lord, please, have mercy on me.” She dropped to the floor now, on her knees, her hands in way of prayer and she could feel the condescending looks of the patients, one of pity from Miss Winters, but she could not bear the thought of abandoning the Lord forever. “Punish me, Sister, please, but have mercy!”

The older Sister grabbed her by her habit and hit the back of her head, positioning her at the end of her desk. This time, it was not Mary Eunice who pulled her own habit, but rather Sister Jude, who took great care into doing it as slowly and as painfully as possible, so that it would bring her great shame and would serve as justice. As example.

“I was supposed to cane you twenty times each,” the old Sister drawled slowly, “but as you can see our dear Sister has offered to take it upon her own, say, rear – and thus it shall be sixty just for her.”

If Mary Eunice heard a disagreement, it was deafened by the ringing in her ears as the cane hit her bum for the first time, hard and painful. She trembled on the desk and clenched her fists as not to fall. Before she got used to the pain, another lash came – and then another and though she not wanted to scream, at the fifth her resolve broke and her soft, mumbled wails turned into cries of pain, loud and searing, tearing through the air like a knife.

 

\--

 

Lana watched the events unfold before her eyes as if she were watching a movie, the images a bit distorted and the sound deeper, the two main characters engrossed in their own affairs without sparing a glance at the camera before them. It came as no surprise to her that Sister Horrible would propose caning as punishment for their little escapade, having prepared herself for the worst the moment her little nun had appeared with her wide blue eyes and worried expression, as if she had caused the situation at hand by herself.

Which was absurd.

Her breath hitched, however, when Sister Innocence stepped up and not only lied to Sister Horrible, but also held her ground and honestly, without considering the terrible consequences, selfless and pure, said it was all her fault.

When the young nun dropped to her knees and begged for her position to remain as it was, pleading merely for punishment, she thought she was crazy. “ _Punish me in any way – cane me bloody and have me stranded to a bed for weeks but please, oh, Lord, please, have mercy on me”_ The woman certainly had an interesting concept of mercy, if physical punishment was what she deemed merciful.

Lana felt like she wanted to get to the root of the reason why the woman even felt the need for pain – but given the circumstance and the person, she presumed it was some martyr complex, typical of all faithful followers of the Lord, our Savior and Protector, Amen. Nutheads.

Except Sister _Mary Eunice_ had just bared her bottom and had received the first lash – and Lana found herself trying to argue that, stop that, but Sister Jude was cruel and unbothered and yet she did not smile victoriously nor gloat about it: she had an almost pained expression as she lowered the hard cane upon the young Sister’s bottom time and time again, counting aloud.

Lana held onto her own seat tightly, trying to watch the scene so the young nun’s courage would not go to waste, but her traitorous eyes squeezed shut anytime the cane came down.

It was not uncomfortable – more. It made her gut wrench and her heart squeeze, tears welling up in her eyes at the sight, but she held them inside, biting her lower lip and daring the older nun to say anything. Her fingernails dug into her palms instinctively, but she didn’t want to show weakness.

She felt as if she would rather die than keep on watching this, the young nun’s legs now trembling as she nearly fell over.

At the first sight of blood, Lana put a hand over her mouth lest she puked and from that it was all downhill: at thirty-five, the young nun stopped wailing, whimpering still but her body in so much pain it paralyzed her; at forty-nine, she hit her head and didn’t stand upright anymore and at sixty, she slid to the floor in a condensed sort of puddle of blood and didn’t get up even when Sister Jude regarded her sternly and accused her of being weak.

“Leave her alone,” Bloody Face’s voice surprised her and she wanted to punch him. He didn’t dare be right, when he could have easily taken the punishment upon himself instead. “ _It’s my fault! Don’t- don’t punish her_ ”, echoed in her head.

Sister Jude glared at him, lowering herself to the floor to grab the young nun by the shoulders. Despite having just laid down the punishment and having called the woman weak, her gaze as she whispered something to young woman was kind – kinder than she had ever seen it before. With the back of her hand, she wiped some of the tears away and she removed the woman’s coif.

“Take her to the infirmary.” Her voice sounded a bit strangled, a look of betrayal and disappointment mixed with pain written across her sharp features and she almost looked pitiful, good. Lana still wanted to bite her head off.

When none of the patients bulged, afraid, Sister Jude slapped her free hand on the floor. “Move it!” And then she went back to her almost usual as she added, “I don’t have all day to waste.”

Lana didn’t need more encouragement to jump to the floor and prop the woman on her lap, gently positioning the woman’s head between legs so she would be comfortable. The soft, blond hair flowed through her hands and she tangled her fingers in it, grazing the tips of her fingers on the woman’s scalp gently, comfortingly, like Wendy used to do whenever she had a headache.

She wondered if Wendy did that now to somebody else.

_Stop it._

Sister Mary Eunice blinked her eyes half-open at the gesture and smiled weakly, a trembling hand catching Lana’s and squeezing it thankfully, wet tears not interrupting their wake and dampening Lana’s gown.

“I’ll get you up now, alright?” Lana said softly, trying very hard not to bother the young woman whose eyes had closed again and her only response was another squeeze of the hand. She eyed the other patients and, addressing only Grace, she said: “Help me get her up.”

A bile in her stomach turned at the sight of that monster approaching her, his hands touching the Sister’s innocent and pure body.

 _No_.

“Don’t touch her, you monster!” She seethed and reeled upwards by herself, holding the woman under her armpits.

“Come on, I can--.”

“Get away from me!”

“This is really not the time to argue,” Grace shouted, angry as well, her eyes cutting Lana into a million pieces, but she could shove her anger somewhere else – she was _not_ , under any circumstance, letting the man taint the young nun in any way.

At the thought of his disgusting hands handling Sister Mary Eunice, she turned to the side and retched.

In the corridor, Sister Mary Eunice started whimpering feverishly and as Grace held onto her tighter, the journalist caressed the nun’s face, which by the position they were in was a few mere inches apart from hers. “You’re alright,” she whispered, her face in the woman’s golden hair. It reeked of sweat and blood and piss, but Lana kissed the top of it anyway, hushing the woman’s sobs and softly murmuring words of encouragement. “You were so brave, so tough.”

The Sister cried when they hit a sudden turn and Lana hissed at Grace to slow down her pace. “I- This--.” Lana put a finger on her lips and kissed her hair again, shushing her.

“Don’t speak.”

The young nun didn’t seem to be apprehensive, didn’t seem to understand the reason why she was being dragged around anymore and appeared to have other plans, her jelly legs trying to swerve in opposite directions and her shoulders wriggling between the two other women.

“Feistier than I expected,” admitted Grace with a bitter chuckle, her left hand grabbing Sister Mary Eunice’s waist and pulling it towards herself while her other hand tightened on her right forearm. Lana mirrored her actions and strapping the woman into a tight X embrace, they managed to reach the infirmary without dropping the brave nun to the floor nor being halted by any passerby. There, they lowered the young woman on a bed.

Free of the weight and overwhelmed, Lana turned over to Kit Walker – who had probably been the reason nobody approached them – and retched again, her body going into spasms. The bile turned again and she closed her eyes, as she grabbed herself onto Sister Mary Eunice’s bed and held tight to find solid ground to stand upon. She wanted to look at the nun before they’d take her again and she could not let her body distract her.

Her eyes welled up with tears at the sight of Sister Mary Eunice opening her eyes wide in a painful gasp when her bottom touched the surface and another stream of tears slashed her red, contorted face. The nun whimpered and wriggled on the bed, her attempt to find comfort futile, her feet slipping on the linen covers and not allowing her to stabilize herself.

The journalist put an impulsive hand on her feet and kept it there, while her other hand squeezed the Sister’s.

It was easy to ignore the urge to free her body of all the retch she had held inside during the caning while holding Sister Mary Eunice’s hand – it felt right to hold it.

But it lasted only a second, and then two nursing nuns pushed her aside and forced her to back up and release her hold of that soft hand. _They had no right!_

“—away, Miss Winters! Get your filthy person away from a bride of Jesus!” The voice cut through her disoriented daze and she eyed the nun curiously, struggling to understand the meaning. She belonged here – didn’t they know? “Go back to your room, patient! _Now_!”

No. She couldn’t abandon Sister Mary Eunice like this – she didn’t deserve it. They were friends, she had to stand by her. Though when they had even agreed to call it each other friends did not appear clear to her.

A hand grabbed her by her gown and pulled her away from the scene, shaking her violently, but it was a blur now, whether it came from the confusion or the tears – Winters could not tell. She swallowed a lump and freed herself from the steely hold, mumbling a ‘Leave me the fuck alone’ and slapping the other attempt at a grab.

  _She could not abandon Sister Mary Eunice._

Her body moved like in a broken dream: one moment she was freeing herself and casting a glance towards the broken-down woman, another she had blood gushing out of her wrist and dropping a scalpel to the floor, a bewildered look on her face and her whole body weakening instantaneously.

Feeling heavy, she made a step backwards and met the cold surface of the marble floor under her cheek as a series of loud, tumultuous voices meshed all into one like a high symphony in a musical production and she closed her eyes in hopes of blocking them away. They were intrusive – and she just wanted them to shut up, wanted to shout at them to keep quiet, but her tongue felt like toffee and her hands were still and there was a searing pain in her wrist, but she could not remember its motif anymore.

Blackness did not embrace her quickly, its dots clouding her senses rather slowly and painfully like a headache, but as soon as it did, she completely lost conscience of anything.

 

\--

 

The sound of sobs broke through a feverish dream and Lana opened her eyes slowly, warily.

A white curtain covered the view, but she recognized the voice and yearned to put an end to the sobbing, eliminate the reason behind it and cleanse Sister Mary Eunice’s soul of all that tormented her.

Sitting upright on her bed, she yelped when a searing pain shot through her right wrist and throbbed. She whined as silently as she could muster as not to bother the other woman and she bit her tongue when she hit her hand against a cupboard. Painfully and slowly, she used her left hand to move the curtain aside, letting her other arm just dangle on her side as if it were dead meat.

The sobs did not stop even when she touched the woman’s shoulder, but the young nun opened her eyes curiously, eyeing the journalist with so much pain in her glassy and bloodshot eyes that Lana nearly reeled to the side at the intensity of it.

She put a hand on the nun’s bed and patted the cold covers. “Scooch over a little bit.”

Sister Mary Eunice bobbed her head lightly against the pillow and, biting her lips and whimpering under her ragged breaths, she pushed herself back a little, enough to let Lana sit without having to use any of her hands to hold herself still. Blue eyes stared at the journalist’s figure and the young nun opened her bloodied lips to speak, a tiny squeak only coming out.

Lana put her left hand on the nun’s shoulder and dragged her thumb across the soft freckled skin. “Shh, you don’t have to say anything.” Sister Mary Eunice shook her head, whimpering as another sob thrashed her across the bed. Lana kept on drawing circles on the woman’s shoulder, shushing her. Her numb hand itched to smooth the outline of the woman’s sob-strained face. “Thank you, for taking the blame. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I--.” Lana dug her thumb lightly into the woman forearm and silenced her.

“Let me finish.” The Sister averted her gaze and sank her head deeper into the pillow shamefully. “I thank you for jumping in. It was very brave. And- watching it – it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen and I wish you hadn’t done that.” The nun’s blue eyes opened wide and watched her worriedly, a tear rolling across her face. Lana caught it before it fell on the pillow and stroked her fingers, a dull feeling in her chest. “When the cane hit you, I almost lunged and took your place. The bravery you exhibited made me want to swoop you in my arms and- and apologize for all the bad words I ever thought about you.”

“You didn’t--,” a sob interrupted her and Lana wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders instinctively in an attempt to calm her. Her other arm hit the mattress and she fought back a few tears as she adjusted it on the covers, near the woman’s chest.

“Not to your face,” Lana admitted after a few moments, after the woman’s breathing had stabilized slightly. She moved away from the awkward position, looking down at the woman with a pitiful look on her face, compassion taking pity by the hand and lacing their fingers in an unbreakable bond.

“I deserve- deserved that,” blurted out the nun, a stream of newfound tears dampening her red face. Lana shushed her again, but a sort of bluntness had crawled its way into the woman’s features and she clutched Lana’s numb hand to seek stability. As if she was trying to brave herself through a storm – or speech, in this case. “I was so duh-dumb. I am so stupid, everyone is right.”

“No, no- no.” The nun shook her head and hit it against the pillow a few times, as if punishing herself. Had she not suffered enough? “You’re not dumb.”

“Yes, I am. I trust everyone.” _That’s not dumb. That’s naïve, but that’s also kind._ “I—I should have asked you where your wounds came from – I am such a bad person, Miss Winters, I am so sorry.”

“What? You’re not- you’re not a bad person. You’re, like, the best person here. The purest, the kindest. You genuinely care about everyone and actually bother to remember their faces and names.” The nun opened her mouth to deny it, but Lana put a threatening finger on her lips. _No. Let me speak._ “You’re the only person who works here who, despite feeling disgruntled by what Pepper did, talks to her like a human being. She likes you.” Sister Mary Eunice whined, looking away in shame. “As for me, I didn’t offer you any explanation and I wasn’t owed any questions – you cleaned my wounds without caring if--.”

“Exactly,” Sister Mary Eunice interrupted, “I did not care,” she sobbed, her hand grabbing Lana’s and trying to move it away from her mouth so she could speak; Lana used the opportunity to intertwine their fingers. She smirked when she saw the woman gape and flush a dark tinge of red. _It worked as a distraction_ , _huh?_ After a few beats of staring at each other, the martyr remembered her speech, and challenged an intense gaze at the journalist. “You say I’m not a bad person – you claim I’m pure and- and _kind_.” _You are_. “But the truth is I think I knew what he had done to you – and simply ignored it, like I always do.”

“You’re not the first homosexual person being treated with electroshock therapy here, Miss Winters,” continued the young nun, now propping herself on her elbow and staring at the window to avoid Lana’s disappointed gaze. She tried wriggling out her hand from the journalist’s hold, the self-disgust clear on her transparent face, but Lana held it tighter, urging her to keep on going. “I knew what kind of man he was for a very long time, but I just closed my eyes and even accepted his- his candy apple.”

Lana coughed and choked on her spit. “His _what_?”

“This morning.” _You had sex with him this morning? Took his forbidden fruit into your mouth after--._ “He brought me a candy apple this morning.” _Oh_. Lana released a breath she’d been holding inadvertently. “I hadn’t seen one in years – my aunt Celeste hated spending money on me, so the only time I ate one was when I was nine, when my cousin Sara stole it from the market. ‘Thou shalt not steal’. I knew that – my aunt Celeste didn’t let me forget that. She was right when she said I was _stupid_.” _Old hag_. “That I deserve to be beaten some sense into.”

“I had never had a paternal figure; you know? My father left my mother when I was a few months old and my mother took her life for it.” The admissions were like puzzle pieces and Sister Mary Eunice was putting them together for Lana to see the full picture. “Dr. Arden felt like God finally gifting me with a father after all those years of not having one.” Lana used their intertwined hands to wipe a tear from the Sister’s face and she forced her other hand to stop the other woman’s quivering lip. Her own eyes welled up with tears, blurring the nun’s shapes before her and she blinked those bastards away repeatedly. “I knew everything he did – I fed some- some creatures for him. I trusted him, because that’s what you do with your parents, right? You trust them, completely.”

“Mine disowned me when they found out I’m gay,” Lana chuckled and the young nun opened her mouth to apologize. The journalist closed her wet lips with a finger, and the nun inadvertently kissed it. Lana’s breath hitched. “But you were not wrong to trust him.” A questioning whimper made its way through the nun’s lips and Lana chuckled. “Alright, you were. Very wrong. Dr. Creeps is like the last person I would have trusted, but we all make mistakes – we all trust wrong people, sometimes. And Dr. Arden is not a bad ally to have.”

“I thought of him as a friend. And- he hurt you and only then I opened my eyes,” whined the young nun. Lana sighed, understanding how much it pressed on Sister Mary Eunice’s conscience and heaved her soul. It was a tricky feeling the one of betrayal – it crawled its claws beneath the skin and rose goosebumps in its wake. Accompanied by shame, it was like a garden of rotten flowers without any light nor water to revive them.

Despite having the complete certainty Wendy hadn’t been at fault, the dagger of betrayal still twisted in her back sometimes.

“At least you opened your eyes. You were fooled but you persevered and metaphorically got away from sin. It’s not your fault the man is, like, Satan swooning after a pure, innocent girl so he can taint her.” _Am I doing this religious talk right? Next negative thing she says about herself, I’m smothering her with a kiss- a pillow._

“You’re too good to me, Miss Winters. I don’t deserve it. Sister Jude is right to-.”

“Sister Jude caned you bloody, are were really taking her advice right now?”

Sister Mary Eunice, however, did not agree. “Sister Jude was only doing her duty, Miss Winters-.”

“Call me Lana.”

“Sister Jude cares about me,” the woman continued in a small voice, eyes locked into Lana’s, conviction seared into them. “She didn’t throw me away from the order despite me deserving it. She’s a woman of God, Miss- Lana. But I know she’s capable of change.”

Lana scoffed and bit down a snarky remark. _Is she your mother figure?_

“I’m sorry for laying all this down to you like this.” _No_! Despite the many layers of daddy and mommy issues to rip like from an onion, Lana felt oddly flattered that the woman had confided in her. “I’m sorry about everything, really.” Before Lana could reply, the young nun lunged herself forward and seared Lana in a tight embrace, dampening the journalist’s gown with many new tears and whimpering loudly. _She’s sitting on her bottom to hug me._ She tried to free herself, give the woman a moment of relief, but Sister Innocence was strong and held onto her like a lifeline. Relaxing her stance, she put a hand in the woman’s hair and smoothed it. “Thank you.”

 _For what?_ She wanted to ask, but her lips would not bulge from their position on the young woman’s shoulder. She kissed the revealed skin and smiled when the nun mirrored her action.

It felt safe, in the woman’s arms. In this position, she could almost pretend she was in her house, in the safe arms of a lover. Affection bloomed in her chest and squeezed her heart in a tight hold that hitched her breath. Sister Mary Eunice was ever so good to her, defending her and trusting her. S _he’d hate me, however, if I ever harbored any other feelings than respect for her._

Twin giant tears fell from eyes and she squeezed the woman between her arms tighter on instinct.

When they separated after what felt like a lifetime – and like a mere second – Lana didn’t resist the urge to kiss the younger woman on the cheek. Sister Mary Eunice blushed before her and smiled one of her rare, stunning smiles that warmed her heart.

“Can I call you my friend, Miss Winters?”

Lana feigned a thoughtful look. “I think you’ll earn the right only if you stop calling me Miss Winters, Sister.”

“Only if you promise to call me Mary Eunice sometimes,” quipped Sister Mary Eunice lightly. “Nobody does, here.”

Lana considered the offer and the innocence it held within. She had already embraced the nun tightly and kissed her cheek – the scale weighted towards ‘yes’. The smile it painted upon the pale face was worth it.

 

\--

 

The next few days flew by in a flurry of shared smiled and quick conversations that were either interrupted by Miss Bertrand, Mr. Walker or _Dr. Arden_. It was as though the entire institution had risen up to stop them from interacting, depriving Mary Eunice of the fulfilling feeling it brought to her heart.

Surprisingly enough, the person to interrupt them the least was the one Mary Eunice would have presumed would have more reason to suspect their blossoming friendship – that person being Sister Jude, who after caning the younger nun bloody and caning Miss Winters – Lana – the next day for having disrupted the peace of the infirmary, locked herself in her office and only sent Mary Eunice for the biggest of errands, ignoring the rest – or setting it aside for different times. Not even an unkind word fell from her lips about the caning incident and she acted as though it hadn’t happened. The only time she insulted Mary Eunice was when five days after the caning, she brought her the mail, but it had been short-lasting enough for the young nun to close an eye. Mostly given that the weather reports announced a storm – and storms always shook people to the core.

Lana was taken from the infirmary the same day as she and Mary Eunice became friends officially, the separation feeling like a band-aid being ripped off a still-healing wound. The young Sister prayed for the curious and blessed journalist to work safely despite her wound and from what she gathered from the gossiping nuns, her prayers had been futile. Before any feeling that weren’t discomfort could even return to her bottom, Lana returned to visit in the infirmary with a bloody nose and a matching smacked bottom.

“I just couldn’t stay away from my friend,” quipped Lana, but it didn’t feel funny. Her eyes were dark and there was a look akin to yearning in them – yearning to leave, not to be punished for having hurt herself anymore, a yearning to be coddled and cuddled with. Mary Eunice wished very hard that Lana’s lover could be there right now to offer her some peace and comfort.

Her thoughts were then promptly interrupted by Miss Bertrand and Mr. Walker, who came in to swoop Lana away from her, claiming that Sister Jude had requested for her to go back to her cell. It had upset Mary Eunice quite a lot, but not as much as Dr. Arden visiting her a few hours earlier had.

She had felt rather than seen him when he’d arrived, his hand hovering over her rear in a sinful manner than had made a bile turn in the young nun’s stomach. Whatever trust she had held for him only a day prior was now obscured by the horror it brought to her heart if he was truly, as Lana claimed, swooning over her. Mary Eunice was a bride of Jesus, a faithful servant of the Lord and romantic feelings were not permitted – sexual activities outright punished with exclusion.

Except Sister Chastity, whose unwanted affair with the Santa Killer had only earned her a bloodied caning and a complete separation from Solitary Confinement, allowing her to only work in the bakery.

Mary Eunice had gulped loudly at the prospect of ending up like Sister Chastity.

“Dr. Arden,” she had turned over to him, suppressing a grimace as her bottom had touched the covers – for Lana, she had sat minutes like that, but for Dr. Arden even a second felt like an eternity. “Good morning,” she had added cheerfully.

The man had retreated his hand hastily, smiling and apologizing, but it had not reached his eyes, that bore through her covers as if tearing the fabric apart to reveal her naked body underneath. It had been the first time the man had seen her without her habit – a notion Mary Eunice would have rather not thought of.

She had chastised herself for the dark thoughts – despite what he had done, the man had never truly made her feel unsafe and the fact she now couldn’t look him in the eyes without seeing Lana’s wounds or thinking of Sister Chastity made her wish she could turn a few wheels back on her memory.

“Sister, I heard about what happened yesterday,” the older man had said, his words holding no pity – rather judgement. “About how you took the blame for some filthy animals?” Mary Eunice had bitten her lower lip. _They’re not animals!_ The statement got stuck in her throat and welled up tears in her blue eyes that she averted from the man’s face to avoid scrutiny. “Tell me, Sister, why would you do such a reckless thing?” _Because it was all my fault – it is. Miss Winters – Lana – deserves freedom, happiness; deserves to be back in her lover’s arms – and I cannot keep depriving her of that because of my weakness_. The man had huffed the next statement in a bewildered whisper: “Sixty lashes. Sister Ambrose had to wipe the blood off Sister Jude’s office thereafter.”

Mary Eunice had laced her fingers and looked down in shame. She had never wanted anyone to clean up her messes.

“Respond to me truthfully, Sister, why did you do that?” His eyes had had a pleading look in them, small and blue – so unlike Lana’s which were large and brown and so comforting.

“Dr. Arden, I am afraid,” she had started slowly, a tear betraying her, “that I do not know. I just wanted to help them, ‘s all. Miss Winters has been very kind to me the past few weeks – and Miss Bertrand has never caused me any trouble. Mister Walker--.” What could she say to defend him? He didn’t look like a murderer to her, but Mary Eunice would trust Satan if he told her he was Jesus, so what did she know? “He’s helped me with Pepper.”

“You told Sister Jude you tried to free them.”

“Oh, Dr. Arden, no,” Mary Eunice had grabbed a handful of her covers and pulled them up further, a sad look on her face. It made her uncomfortable the way his eyes followed her actions, but she had braved the storm and had gritted yet another lie through her teeth. “I wanted to protect them – I did not think of the consequences.”

It had not convinced the man, who had tried to bribe her into telling Sister Jude the truth, but Mary Eunice had held her ground as best as she could. She had never before seen anger in the man’s eyes – and would have rather gone forever without seeing it. Weakly, she did convince him however to come to him next time, lay down her issues to him like a nun in prayer to a priest – Lana had called him a powerful ally and Mary Eunice trusted her.

From that it just went downhill, with the man disrupting any conversation he saw her having with Lana, asking her rather strongly if she felt safe – as if she could ever feel unsafe with Lana. God had His path for everyone and if His path had made Lana the way she was – and had led her to her, then who was Dr. Arden or anybody else to go against God Himself?

The day before the reported storm Mary Eunice barely shared any words with Lana, only exchanging a glance when she announced that, because of the upcoming storm, they would all be watching a movie together: The Sign of The Cross. She had been shocked when she had read the synopsis, images of Christians burning at the stake flashing before her eyes but she had not wanted to upset Sister Jude by asking her about it.

Despite the incredibly dark movie, with themes bordering on blasphemy at its extremes, Mary Eunice blessed the idea, thanking God during and after prayer – for it was a perfect distraction in case she wanted to free Lana.

Her heart fluttered at the thought of how happy it would make the journalist if Mary Eunice finally gave her the freedom she deserved. It made her soar to imagine Lana jumping on her and knocking the air out of her lungs with the tightest of embraces, a thank you sealed with a kiss on the cheeks, like the one she had given her in the infirmary. _The ghost of Lana’s lips tickled her cheeks._ They would part, then, probably never to see each other again – but that was how it needed to be.

She used the back of her hand to wipe a lone tear off her cheek.

_Why am I crying?_

To help Lana find the road towards salvation, Mary Eunice needed to find a perfect route. Thus, she grabbed a bowl of meat for Dr. Arden’s creatures and exited the institution after all cells had been locked, approaching the dark woods rather carefully, each step taken with deep reverence for her own life.

Leading herself to an early grave for a friend didn’t seem too bad, but she needed to save her friend first, die second.

In the dark folds of the woods, where no moonlight shone through and the hairs stood on her arms, she stopped, halted by her own thoughts. She truly _would_ lay down her life if it meant Lana didn’t suffer anymore. Back when Sister Jude had caned her bloody – she hadn’t realized that. But as the darkness enveloped her in a tight embrace and blindfolded her, leaving her only to her other senses, she came to the conclusion that she truly would.

She’d be scared, no doubt about that. She’d probably cry and beg for her life, but she’d accept it.

Her heart raced with the energy of a thousand horses as she stepped towards the tiny lane where the creatures lay.

The lane was slightly illuminated, the shadows playing tricks with her mind and stroking her features intrusively. Her free hand laced its fingers through the rosary, counting the beads and praying the Lord to forgive all her sins and give her salvation during such a dreadful night. She had not yet done her duty, had not yet finished her plan. _I thank Thee for all the blessings, Father and I weep at Thy kindness – but if I have not yet used my fair share of prayers, have not yet wasted Thy grace, let me be successful tonight and bring freedom to Lana tomorrow, as she deserves it._

An image of Lana comforting her flashed in her mind and she smiled weakly, laying down the meat with a newfound strength of heart. The creatures gnarled and growled – and it made her stomp a few feet back, but she bore no ill will towards them, rather caring about them. It wasn’t their fault they were scary – Dr. Arden had created them for whatever reason and their entire essence was frightening, abnormal, but overall helplessly sad.

When she walked away, goosebumps dotting her skin and her breath coming out in short puffs, she did it of her own volition, the safe distance she had kept with the creatures having been enough to let the wind blow her scent in a different direction and thus not present her as a possible feast.

Dr. Arden had said something, once, about the creatures remembering her scent as one of a friend, one not to eat – and as she walked away freely, her feet following an unknown path, she surely hoped he had been right.

The thought of one of the creatures following her into the dark sent a chill down her spine and froze her.

With the leaves playing their tributes to God and the wild animals singing hymns of howls and chirps, her mind played more and more tricks on her as she moved the branches around and struggled to keep her feet away from threatening roots – the road to freedom no nearer than it had been before.

Whispers of leaves and branches, monstrous and large, molded into a series of intrusive thoughts that _popped_ into her head and huffed. At one moment, it felt as if a root hissed ‘ _God hates what you’re doing for Her’_ , the ‘her’ seethed as it were an insult. ‘ _Mary Eunice_ ,’ they called, ‘ _berry-Mary, who’s going to pop your cherry_?’ and ‘ _Female fairy got sweet nun Mary in a bond imaginary’._ They pushed her further within the grasp of the unknown.

With eyes wide and mouth agape, she walked forward, quickening her pace, as if running would save her from the monsters within. It was not the forest speaking, after all, its voice null if she didn’t give it one. Roots didn’t speak – such long sentences were frankly impossible, but they were her own voices within crawling out and they frightened her to the core.

The sound of leaves crunching beneath her stomping feet startled her, the crack so eyrie unlike the daylight. In the daylight, Mary Eunice the cracking sound of leaves, enjoyed the satisfaction it brought. One of her most childish and most self-indulgent reason for which she went out to feed the creatures was honestly the feeling of the outdoors, the fresh air brushing her hair even under the coif and caressing her lips. Lana had once told her she missed it, the wind on her face. She would have liked the eeriness, would have smoked a cig and offered a quip, perhaps a comforting hand.

Despite the situation, Mary Eunice smiled involuntarily, taking a step back. She nearly screamed when something grabbed her hair and she yelped, trying to free herself of the grasp, her breath hitching at the image of one of the creatures killing her at any given moment.

But the rasped breaths did not lay upon her neck, nor did any man come to kill her. With a relaxed exhale, she found it had only been a branch ripping her coif.

What a nun she was, losing pieces of her habit – and most of all, losing her habits.

A sudden squawk of a bird knocked the air out of her lungs and she coughed, turning around warily, her hold on her rosary so tight, she drew blood as one of the beads broke. _Our Father, who art in Heaven, forgive me for this. I am failing Thee._

“Who’s there?” A low, familiar voice called through the branches and like in an old, broken clock, the needles in her mind whirled around in opposite directions, freezing her in one spot. A white hand moved the branch that had caught her coif and she found herself face to face with Dr. Arden, whose next sentence died in his mouth. “Sister?!”

Mary Eunice’s eyes welled up involuntarily and she shivered, only now truly feeling the breeze hitting her back. It had not occurred to her to bring anything to cover herself up and as she stared at Dr. Arden’s worried expression, she felt chills running down her spine. The young nun knew how it looked, after all: alone, in the woods, her coif ripped and her face pale – she looked either demonic or psychotic.

“What are you doing here?” The old, white man insisted when no answer fell from her lips. They were numb, frozen, her tongue unable to move; she worried them with her teeth, wishing for some blood to fill her mouth, for the taste to bring her back to reality. What would she say, anyway? _I am here because, once again, I am going against your wishes and helping out my friend, whom you hate, because she’s an outspoken person._ “Sister,” the doctor moved closer to her. Her mind screamed for her to move away, but she let him put a hand on her shoulder and shake her. “Are you alright, Sister? Are you lost?”

 _Yes. I am very lost. Does God even want me to help Lana?_ She nodded and pouted her lips, pleading him to understand that no further questions would be appreciated.

“What happened? Did the creatures attack you?” _Relentless_. A hand was on her cheek now, cautious but oh-so-present. It was rough, the calluses on his fingers grazing her soft skin – it was delicate, in its way, but it made Mary Eunice’s stomach churn. It felt sinful. _Unlike Lana._ _Lana’s fingers are soft_. She nodded, averting her gaze. After a few seconds of staring at the young nun intently, Dr. Arden finally dropped his hand and smiled wistfully. “Let’s get you back, then. Perhaps you’ll tell me what happened to you over a cup of tea?”

“I don’t like tea,” she murmured, her voice coarse.

“Coffee, then?” The old man offered, a wary look of restlessness in his eyes, a warning of sorts, as if he would reveal her secrets to Sister Jude if she did not obey, though he masked it with a grin. It looked like a wolf baring his teeth.

“I-,” she began, but he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.

“I insist, Sister,” a mist of air appeared as he huffed the sentence quite too close to her. Mary Eunice gulped and looked away, new tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. She wished she had just taken Lana with her tonight and ran away – but she hadn’t. And so, with a nod, she followed the man like a servant.

 

\--

 

“Dr. Thredson? My name is Lana Winters. Can I have a word with you? In private?”

The past few days, she had observed him, the psychiatrist, Dr. Thredson. With absurdly large horn-rimmed glasses and slick black hair, he was in the institution solely for the purpose of interviewing Bloody Face, Kit Walker, and either condemn him to the madhouse forever, or fry him on the chair. Walking like he understood the pain, empathetically speaking to not one but many patients whenever he could, he attracted her attention. There was something about the way he challenged Sister Jude and contrasted some of the institution’s ideals that made her believe that he could help her, much more than dear sister Mary Eunice with her limited position had. He wouldn’t even need to free her – Wendy would do that, she knew, once she got her note.

She just needed him to carry the word, like a page. And then Wendy would come like a knight in shining armor through the storm, swoop her in her arms and they’d live happily ever after.

A smile a drew on her lips at the image her mind presented: Wendy, sitting between her legs, the two watching TV or listening to the radio, drinking tea – made by Wendy, for Lana was terrible in the kitchen – the blinds open for once to observe the storm anytime a lightning would strike. They’d embrace each other, then, always did. Lana loved storms, for the solace they provided. It was the only time Wendy did not fear anyone coming in on them, rather bluntly covering her plucky lips with hers. Their bodies intertwined afterwards, they become one.

_Now we’re one away from the other._

Back when Lana had been thrown out of the house for loving Wendy – and making love to her – it had been a storm and the two, who hadn’t shared the profoundness of their feelings before, had done so then. A storm had brought them together, brought peace. It had bloomed a garden in her heart with flowers ever so bright it made her heart soar. Now, the garden was filled with rotten flowers and rats – Sister Horrible and Dr. Creeps had made sure of that. Had separated them.

She thanked Sister Kindness – Sister Mary Eunice – for being the only person in the madhouse who could make her feel less lonely. But despite her help in filling her heart with a bit of peace and her ability to shoo the rats away, Lana could not lull herself in the feeling. The young nun gave and asked for nothing in return, offered as much aid as she could provide, but what she offered was limited to the institution.

It made her feel ungrateful, whenever she thought of Mary Eunice as not helpful enough, but with the past week in which they had barely spoken right after the young nun had taken a caning for her, it felt as though it would not only delight Lana to be successfully helped by Dr. Thredson, but also the other woman. That was why she needed him, why she felt like she could trust him enough to send a message out: Mary Eunice did not deserve to have a friend – as she had wished to be called – whose sole presence caused her such a great deal of pain.

She shuddered at the feeling of entrapment that this place brought. Sometimes she felt like the air she had breathed outside for the past years was now being sucked out of her lungs, drying her like a prune. Never had she imagined the amount of pain and suffering that could be bottled within the four walls of a single place, but what she had seen outside, in the real world, she now knew was only a pretense, a beautiful world freed of pain by caging those who showed it.

As a lesbian, of course, she had a small understanding of the rejection that came with it, but this place was worse. And every day it got to her more. Even with Sister Innocence taking her hand and combing her hair or offering a tight embrace, this place was squeezing her heart and her only lifeline was the small nun, a dummy she used to fill the void that Wendy had left. It made her weep, for the young nun was not aware, could not be, of how used she was.

 _I’m not using her, if I actually enjoy her presence, am I_? But she enjoyed it too much – and that was also an issue.

Contacting Wendy with the help of Dr. Thredson was the perfect solution to all her problems, for Mary Eunice would suffer no more – and Lana wouldn’t either. They’d each go back to the perfect lives they had before, and that would be it. It’d be selfish to desire more than that, to entertain the idea of continuing a friendship with the young nun even afterwards, for the young woman was promised to a life of service and humbleness, not worldly desires allowed to taint her pure – and Lana was the most tainting worldly presence that Sister Mary Eunice could come across.

Seldom had she felt as useless in the real world as she did now.

She _needed_ more than wanted Dr. Thredson to bring it back to how it was. He was her last hope. If he bailed, if he did not deliver – she’d have to darken Sister Mary Eunice’s heart more and more, until it’d become as dark as coal.

“Miss Winters,” Dr. Thredson’s voice startled her out of her walking daze – she had followed him to the piano, a confined place, but her mind had not been present. It happened too often, the past days. Moments of complete numbness of mind, of head, her sanity slipping through her fingers. If God existed, she hoped He was happy now. She was a struggling homosexual. “I know a little bit about your case, but I’m not authorized to discuss your treatment.” _No, I don’t need that._ “Unfortunately, I’m only officially here to evaluate one patient.”

“No, it’s not about me,” she admitted quickly. Confusion flashed across his face and she pressed on. “I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’ve been watching you.” _More often than not wondering why you’re not my therapist instead of Sister Jude’s cane and Dr. Arden’s electricity_. “You’re not one of them.” _Like Mary Eunice, you’re good_. “I’m desperate. I need to get a message to my friend, on the outside.” The man sucked on his cigarette and breathed out smoke, a worried expression now painting across his face. “Wendy Peyser.”

The man glanced at her with a curious light in his eyes. “Your friend,” he started, “she’s the reason why you’re in here?”

It was accusatory. It felt as though he didn’t like Wendy, which was wrong, and cruel. But he was right. She had betrayed Lana – and though Lana’s heart ached for her every day more than the other, another part dug a deep grave for her within which she wanted to bury her forever and forget her.

“She hasn’t written – or called,” the journalist breathed out painfully. “I know Sister Jude is keeping her away from me.” She had to be. “If I could just see her, I could straighten this out.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she sucked in a shaky breath, her voice breaking as she uttered the last words: “Dr. Thredson... you’re my last hope. Will you help me deliver her this message?”

Putting a hand beneath her sweater, she pulled out a note and offered it to him.

Understanding shined in the man’s eyes and he eyed her dangerously. “You’re asking me to betray Sister Jude,” he began gravely, his voice low, “who is the administrator of this sanitarium.”

Lana’s hands trembled beneath his gaze and she opened her mouth to offer a quick apology, to retrieve her dignity and claim it was all a joke – of course he wouldn’t help her, why had she convinced herself so much that he would? Mary Eunice would be so disappointed, and she hadn’t even known in the first place that the journalist planned on doing it.

But then a slight smirk ghosted over the man’s lips and he snatched the note away quickly. Lana couldn’t contain the smile that drew on her lips, the smirk burning a small fire in her chest and making her wheeze in excitement. A single tear escaped her eyes and she bit lower lip to mask her joy.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She wasn’t sure what made her believe that Dr. Thredson would be more successful than Mary Eunice had been, but she supposed it was the certainty that he could actually, genuinely, see Wendy with his own two eyes and tell her how much she loved her.

 _I should have told him that I loved her. To tell her._ But the note contained it all, the most important parts of all that had happened to her in the past weeks. Wendy could use them for the police and that was the most important part.

 _I have to tell Mary Eunice!_ The thought crossed her mind in a flash and tugged at her heart in an urgency she could not begin to describe. Mary Eunice would be so proud, so happy. Would she approve of her trusting someone else than her? _Of course yes_ , Lana scolded herself. The young nun was not possessive and would want Lana to make more friends and trust more people, as she herself trusted even the Devil. In the leap of faith that she had taken into trusting Dr. Thredson, the woman could feel Mary Eunice’s presence rubbing off on her.

 _Oh, I’ll miss her when I’m gone_ , she admitted yet another time in the span of merely minutes.

Despite looking everywhere, however, Lana did not find Mary Eunice anywhere, a dark idea already crossing her mind that something had happened that had the young nun trapped in a dark basement, starved and touched in places where no man or woman should. It made her want to retch, her hands sweating and her spine tense. She almost thought of diving herself into Sister Horrible’s office and shouting at her to do something, to free Mary Eunice from that basement, because Lana could not leave this place without the certainty that her new friend would be safe.

She was tense, afraid, hyper fixating on that one, single idea, the images repeating themselves.

So when a cold hand grabbed hers, Lana nearly screamed. Looking down, she recognized Pepper.

“Excited for movie night, Lana Banana?”

 

\--

 

Movie night began in a mist of confused screams, wails and murmurs molding into one big buzzing sound that lulled itself into a background noise, like _Dominique_. Soothing, once it was perceived not at as a threat of chaos, but rather a communion of different individuals coming together to enjoy themselves in a friendly manner that wronged no heart. It was peaceful. A moment of relax.

Lana couldn’t deny she enjoyed drunk Sister Jude rambling about some poor, sick story of hatred and sadness, a tear-stained face and a hand trembling like a leaf covering an ‘o’ shaped red, wet mouth with a sob coming from within so intrusive, so unlike the person who emitted it, it was like a tsunami wave crashing over a mountain village.

“I know you say nobody’s missing, Frank,” drawled out Sister Jude in a slur emphasized by the intoxication reeling off her, “but I am going to check anyway.”

With that, she went towards to the door but it opened with a loud crack not pushed by her and Lana instinctively turned around, her eyes laying upon a wretched face exchanging another. Her eyes searched for Mary Eunice’s, but the young nun didn’t notice her, a miserable look written across her features, a red, bloodied lip worried between her teeth and she strode forward to find a seat in the front.

A chilling wind blew onto her heart and she put a hand against her chest, her breath shuddering. Whatever had happened to her nun, it must have been serious. The thought that she was not locked in a basement, somehow didn’t comfort her. Cold hands closed their tight grasp around her throat, choking her. With urgency, she made to stand up, her heart yearning to grab Sister Mary Eunice and embrace her tightly and squeeze all those sad thoughts out of her.

A hand on her arm grounded her and brought her back down and she took a mental step back, her eyes glossing over the man seated next to her. Dr. Thredson. Why was he here?

 _Wendy_. Lana kicked herself for having forgotten that, but her eyes couldn’t help but skim over to the young nun who seemed ever so worried. Wendy could wait, couldn’t she? She’d be there, after Lana had comforted Mary Eunice. She’d wait for her in their house.

“I am afraid that something very terrible has happened to your lover, Miss Winters,” uttered the man the forbidden sentence – and with it, crumbled Lana’s convictions. One by one, he kicked them as if they were dominoes, tripping over themselves. Not only did he now claim her lover was in danger – he believed Bloody Face had done it.

But Bloody Face was here, at Briarcliff, talking to Grace about escaping – if that wasn’t him, then who was it? All this mess had happened, because she had believed Kit Walker was Bloody Face, had followed him here and now – now what? Now he was _innocent_? And another, vile man walked free and roamed the streets, hunting down women?

And Wendy was one of them?

Airways constricted and a large ache spread through the entirety of her chest. The movie rang in her ears like a gong, loud and clear. She eyed it for a reminder of reality, but it was too much. A bile rose in her throat and she tried to swallow it down, but, gluey, it held onto her and didn’t release its grasp.

She blinked repeatedly, concentrating on Rose and Kit escaping instead, along with Shelley now, the blonde nymphomaniac rather in a hurry to leave the scene. Lana cast a pleading glance towards Dr. Thredson first, for him to understand, as she explained that she could not stay to watch sexual scenes in the movie, as if they ever mattered, as if sexual awakenings could ever happen in a place like Briarcliff – then, with longing eyes she found Mary Eunice fidgeting in the front.

When she locked her gaze with the woman, she was already near the door and though she didn’t utter a word, a look of understanding crossed the young nun’s face and she nodded. Her blue eyes blinked and gazed at her ever so comfortingly and affectionately, Lana felt as if she could save the world with the power of that affection.

_I just need to save Wendy._

She closed the door behind herself and exhaled loudly, the chaos of the movie night abandoning her completely. But there was no time to waste, not when Wendy could be somewhere, in a basement, screaming for help and begging for her to come and save her. Which was ironic, given that Lana had spent the past weeks feeling equally helpless and hopeless.

Now was her chance and those three idiots whose tracks she needed to trail were her ticket to salvation.

They kept making turns, flinching whenever Sister Jude’s voice echoed in the distance, but the drunk Sister was as dangerous as a bird: loud and could peck your eyes if bothered, but overall harmless.

Though her mind was clouded with thoughts of Wendy and the idea of leaving this hellhole after that she’d been through, all those she’d met here to be forgotten once and for all, she tried to listen in to their conversation.

Shelley was worried, didn’t like the storm much, was one of the freaks whose head got turned and hazy in a dizzying sort of weather. She quipped about the night being bad for an escape route, but Kit believed it was perfect. “The storm will cover our tracks.”

 _The storm might do that, or might kill us_ , Lana added bitterly in her mind. No, there could only be one freak in the room. Shelley tapped her fingers on the frame of the door and the trio stopped in their tracks, conversing about the tunnel, perturbed and quick to bail.

When Grace said, “There’s an old tunnel that’ll lead us to the woods. Assuming it’s really there,” Lana came into view and smiled, hoping it looked trustful.

“It’s there,” she promised, walking over to them, their expressions dumbfounded and their bodies frozen still in confusion. “That touched nun brought me through it. I’ll show you: just take me with you.”

A breath stuck in her throat as Grace pushed her hardly against the wall and held her there threateningly, her cold fingers tightly fisted at the top of her gown. Crazed eyes locked with hers as the small woman uttered a seethe. “Screw you. You had your chance.”

Lana searched Kit with her eyes: he stood there still, a mistrustful look painted on his face. “I was wrong about you. I’m sorry,” she breathed, trying to make him see how desperate she was. Her voice broke. “But someone I love may be in danger. I know you can understand that.”

The young man shifted, a pained expression flicking across his features. When Grace proposed to take her down, Kit stopped her. The journalist – was she one anymore? She’d need to be, after this, because after she’d saved Wendy, there was only one thing she was wont to do next: expose this hellhole – followed him suit as he moved to the corner, but as soon as he exposed his head to the expanse of corridor, he came back in.

“Shit. Carl’s out there,” he explained under his breath.

“What are we going to do?” Grace asked. Despite having just pinned the journalist to the wall, Lana admired the upmost reverence the young woman held for the man. It reminded her of Mary Eunice’s sacrifice for her.

“Whatever we have to,” admitted Kit. “We may not get another chance. We’re getting through that door.”

“You’re not taking down Carl.” The nymphomaniac’s voice was shattered and she was trembling like a leaf. The crazed look in her eyes gave an air of desperation to the statement, but as she explained Carl’s life, Lana couldn’t help but think she was most likely right. They couldn’t take down a Marine. The sex-driven woman looked down and then said. “I’ll make sure you get through that door.” There was determination in her grey eyes, so similar to Mary Eunice’s. Lana briefly wondered if the young nun would have done as much. Given the nature of the woman stood before her, however, she figured she wouldn’t, not equally. “Just- just try and wait for me.”

“Wait for you?”

“If you can’t, if I don’t make it out,” she turned to Lana and worried her bottom lip with her teeth, “make sure you write the story that blows the doors off this place.” _Of course I will_. “Don’t forget about me.”

They watched as the woman exited the corridor and waited for the guard to react, but instead of a question, came a yelp of terror and a loud thud echoed in the dimly illuminated corridor, a body hitting the floor so inadvertently, the trio jumped. Lana gripped onto the wall and breathed in quickly, panic seeping through the cracks of her bones and freezing her limbs.

A shuddering breathy sound came from the illuminated part of the corridor and Lana sighed, when she heard Shelley’s voice. “What are you doing here? Why did you do that?”

“I am here to help you,” a familiar voice quivered, a raspy tone added to its normally low accent. “Is Miss Winters with you?” Lana didn’t wait for the nymphomaniac to respond, rather leaping from her position and coming into the young nun’s view with a large smile on her lips. “Lana!” Mary Eunice chirped and wasted no time to embrace the older woman tightly. “I was afraid a guard might catch you, so I took a leap of faith and followed a different route to the tunnel, hoping that if anything came to be, I’d cause a distraction.”

The mumbled confession swelled Lana’s heart and she found it hard to separate herself from the woman, doing so only for the sake of keeping a good reputation – and because, despite the gnawing feeling at heart that the idea of abandoning the young nun here, she knew the moment would come.

“You did great, knocking that guard out,” she said softly, hoping the younger woman could feel the admiration mingled in her tone. If words could not do much, her eyes searched for blue eyes, emotion dripping in the form of a lone, escaped tear. A soft hand cleared it and she smiled.

“Yes, um,” Grace cleared her throat, effectively separated the pair that jumped away from the other as if they had been burned – or caught in an improper act. “We have to leave. God knows when they’ll notice his body lying on the floor – but I’d rather not be here when that happens.”

Kit and Shelley hummed in approval. Lana cast a glance towards Mary Eunice, a sudden urge clawing through her chest and before she could bite herself, she grabbed the young nun’s hand. _Fuck it._ “Come with us?”

“Oh, no,” the younger brunette started, “we’re not taking her. She’s a nun – she’s an accomplice to all these crimes.”

The journalist groaned and glared at the younger woman, her hand not dropping the nun’s. “No, she’s not. Ma- Sister Mary Eunice is better than any of the jerks here.”

“It’s okay, La- Miss Winters, she’s right. I am an accomplice,” Mary Eunice retreated her hand quickly, averting Lana’s gaze and staring at Carl’s face painfully, a look of shame and horror written on her face. “You don’t have to worry about me – I can take care of my messes.” Her foot touched Carl’s shoulder and she kicked him lightly, a tear escaping her blue, ocean eyes like a drop of salty water in a wave. “I wish you the best of luck.”

“Mary Eunice,” started Lana, her heart squeezing in her chest. She could not abandon the young nun here. It only dawned on her now, that if she exposed the place, she could not easily paint Mary Eunice out as a good individual, without making it seem as more than it had been. They’d accuse her of the worst – have her removed from the order. Perhaps, if she took her out in time, they could avoid all that trouble. “If they find out what you did to Carl, they’ll remove you from the order.”

A soft mewl left Mary Eunice’s mouth and her shoulders dropped, followed by her whole body. She cradled the unconscious man on her lap and sobbed. “I’ll deserve it. I will take any punishment.” She waved her hand weakly. “Now go.”

“ _Lana_.” Kit’s voice cut through the emotion and Lana fought an urge to shove him against a wall and strangle him. He had no right to intrude, not when Lana wasn’t done convincing Mary Eunice to run away with her, not when her hand wasn’t yet intertwined with the young nun’s and they weren’t on their way to save Wendy. “We have to _leave_. She can take care of this, she said so.”

Lana looked at him numbly, her eyes fixed on him but she couldn’t see him. Tears blurred her vision and she didn’t fight them away. Grace was grabbing her by her gown, pulling her towards the door that led to salvation; Shelley was inviting her to think of her lover and Kit was already opening the door. But Lana’s brown eyes found blue, a sad, guilty light in them and in a sharp tug, she freed herself from Grace’s grasp and ran back to Mary Eunice.

“The tunnel is behind a cart of laundry-.”

“Lana, don’t-,” Mary Eunice tried.

“-right in the boiler room. Just push it away and open it and the tunnel will lead you into the woods.” Wide eyes settled on her face and she averted them, focusing of Carl’s unconscious body instead. There, over his chest, hovered Mary Eunice’s hand and Lana grabbed one instinctively, seeking comfort and confirmation that what she was doing was not completely foolish. _Wendy._ “I’ll help Sister Mary Eunice here. If you can, wait for me – but if we’re caught, you know the way. And please, if I don’t make it, look for my lover. Her name is Wendy Peyser and- and Bloody Face may have caught her. Good luck.”

“Are you fucking-.”

Kit pushed Grace onto the door, cutting her sentence effectively. “We don’t have time for this. Thank you, Lana. I hope you make it.”

With that, they were gone.

Guilt heaved on her choice to aid Mary Eunice over Wendy – but Wendy would have Kit, Grace and Shelley to help her. Who did Mary Eunice have? Dr. Arden and Sister Jude did not count, given the nature of their interest for the young nun.

Eyes aflame with something akin to anger, Mary Eunice squeezed her hand and then released it, setting it on Carl’s face instead. “You shouldn’t have done this. Why did you- why?” A sob racked the young nun’s body as she settled her gaze upon the journalist’s face, accusing and shameful. “If- if Miss Peyser – _Wendy_ – is in danger, why would you do this?”

Lana’s trembling hand hovered near the line arch that connects the ear to the rest of the face and she didn’t resist the urge to tuck a strand of loose hair behind the nun’s ear, twin tears escaping her eyes shamelessly. “I couldn’t leave you here. You saved me – not just a week ago. Without you, I would be just a ghost of what I used to be. I can’t let you rot in here – not when there’s a chance you’ll do that as a patient from now on and not as one of the caretakers.”

Mary Eunice’s mouth gaped, the small lips shaped like an ‘o’. “But what about Wendy?”

“I trust them. They’ll save her.” The young nun shook her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes darting between the knocked-down guard and the journalist. Lana’s thumb touched the young nun’s chin and she pulled the lip down. _I shouldn’t be doing this_ , she thought. “Trust me, please. I- if I start overthinking this now, I might not make it. I can’t- we have to take this body away and hide it somewhere and that’s it. I can’t look in the face of death and worry about my lover all at once.”

Mary Eunice gulped down a response and nodded. “What do I-?”

Motioning for the woman to grab the man by the armpits, she positioned herself on the other end, her hands grabbing at his legs. Her right hand barely circled it, trembling and twitching, but her left hand was strong enough not to let the man slip.

“Alright, we have to carry him to a closet, or something,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. Business-like, she resembled her old self if only by a little – the notion quite funny, considering her old self had never dragged an unconscious body away.

Upon Mary Eunice’s indications, they moved east, dropping the man only five times in the span of ten minutes, the actions actually quite fortunate, given that he had taken it into heart to open his eyes right before they dropped him for the first time. Nothing that a bump on the head did not solve, but it kept them more alert afterwards, their eyes checking on the guard as if he was about to wail like a police siren any second.

“Here,” Mary Eunice said, slowly propping herself on the cold, hard surface of the marble floor, laying the man on the floor as gently as she could, his head on her lap. A feeling very familiar and yet completely absurd and uncalled for twisted Lana’s insides and she turned to the closet, a quipping remark at the tip of her tongue. _I have yet to escape the closet, and here I am, entering another one._

Twisting the door-knob, she revealed a small, closed space with only cleaning supplies. It was perfect.

“Alright, give him to me.”

Grunting and huffing, they pulled the body in. Dipping in victory’s bath, Lana couldn’t help a satisfactory grin from spreading on her face and she sighed. “Hope he’ll stay asleep long enough for us to escape.”

The journalist then turned to her partner-in-crime, expecting a response, even a hum of acknowledgement of sort, but what she found instead was the young nun, with arms circled around her legs, hugging herself like an orphan. Her whole body was shaking violently and there was a low drawl of suppressed cries coming from the woman’s lips, as if she were trying to contain them, afraid they might upset Lana – or alert anyone.

Wasting no time, Lana dropped to the floor, knocking her kneecaps roughly. “Mary Eunice?” She put a warm hand over the nun’s shoulder and drew soothing circles at the base of the woman’s neck. “Sister? What’s wrong?”

A ragged breath came from the balled-up figure and bloodshot eyes met hers before they averted them and focused on the locked door of the closet instead. Offering herself as a teddy-bear, Lana inched closer to the woman, smoothing the expanse of her coif, tugging it down impulsively. The nun didn’t stop her, instead shaking her head and letting the material fall to the floor. She eyed it in horror, her lower lip quivering, but she said nothing, barely even emitting a sound.

Her breath was coming in short, Lana noticed. It was quick and incomplete, as if she had something in her throat choking her. “Mary Eunice, talk to me, please,” she pleaded, her voice weak and broken down. “What’s wrong?”

Hot air mingled with hers as she inched ever closer to the woman, trying to find her eyes, too see what was the root of the problem. They were glassy, large and wide, fear written all over them. “Come on, let’s get up and go, please.” _We’re safe, now. He’s in the closet. Why are you crying?_ “Mary Eunice,” she croaked, her lips grazing the woman’s cheek and she pressed a soft kiss on the corner of her eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“Let’s go, Mary Eunice.” She shivered when the woman laid her head on her shoulder and sucked in a deep breath. Embracing the woman around her middle, she urged her to get up. “The crisis is averted, come on. What’s _wrong_?”

Mary Eunice let herself be pulled up, her body immediately propping against the wall. A trembling hand found Lana’s cheek and calloused pads grazed her jawline, while another hand clutched at her own breast. “I can’t- I- buh-.”

“No, please, breathe, breathe with me.” Forcing a deep breath in, she nodded for the other woman to mirror her actions. After a few moments, she did, her chest heaving. “Deep breath in, slowly – then deep breath out. Great job. Now repeat.” A weak smile flashed on the young nun’s lips, laying a comforting feeling deep in Lana’s heart. “What happened, Sister? Why are you so scared?”

“I- I hit- I hit a man, Lana,” Mary Eunice sobbed, a wave of tears flooding her cheeks and she worried her bottom lip, trying to avert Lana’s gaze again, as if she were ashamed, but Lana cupped her face with her hands and forced her to lock her gaze with hers. “And then I m-muh- made you stay here, instead of saving M-Miss Peyser. You should juh- just leave me here.”

“Not going to happen. You’re my friend. I won’t leave a friend behind.”

A disgruntled whimper escaped Mary Eunice’s lips. “A friend who can’t even find you a route to get you out.” Lana shushed her and opened her mouth to speak, but Mary Eunice’s fingers covered her lips daringly. “I should have pushed you towards that door, Lana, I should have.”

“What do you mean by route?”

“I tried yesterday – and even today, but Dr. Arden kept interrupting me, kept prying me away from your salvation,” Mary Eunice choked and hid her head under Lana’s, her nose nuzzling Lana’s chest. “I don’t deserve to be called your friend. God is already disappointed in me, for all the wrong I am doing. You should be as well.”

Lana wrapped her arms tightly around the woman’s center, allowing no space between them. Words stuck in her throat – she could not say what she truly felt. So, she tried to pass onto her words of encouragement through her actions, smoothing the young nun’s hair and kissing the top of it, her other hand balling a hem of Mary Eunice’s habit tightly.

“Get away from her immediately, you filthy deviant!” Dr. Arden voice cut the union apart like a knife – when he grabbed Lana by her gown, it felt as if blood was dripping down from a wound. He pushed her against the wall, letting her head hit it sharply and then he kicked her down to the floor, thereafter focusing his attention of the young nun, who stood propped on the wall agape and frozen. A rough hand cupped Mary Eunice’s and Lana felt like retching. “Are you alright, Sister? Did she touch you anywhere you did not want her to?”

Mary Eunice glanced over at Lana, her eyebrows furrowing into a pleading look. But Lana misunderstood it for a plea of help, rather than plea of forgiveness. For, as she stood up to perhaps take the man down, Mary Eunice spoke to the man firmly instead. “No, Dr. Arden. I wanted her to embrace me.” The young nun eyed the man sternly and added, “Actually, if you hadn’t walked in, I probably would have wanted her to do more.”

Lana stopped mid-action, her jaw dropping.

A chilling wind came over her heart as Dr. Arden’s rough hand connected with Mary Eunice’s cheek, this time not in an affectionate gesture. The slap echoed in the hallway and sent shivers down her spine.

_How dare you, you motherfucking asshole-._

“How dare you-mmm-.” Lana’s fist connected with the bridge of his nose impulsively, without a second thought. The bones cracked under her knuckles and as the man staggered backwards, Lana observed a trail of blood covering his face with satisfaction.

“Lana!” Mary Eunice yelped, however there was no judgement in her eyes. Lana grinned.

Dr. Arden looked at her with so much anger and hatred in his eyes, Lana could almost see her father’s eyes in his. Almost. Not enough. “You, filthy _dyke_ , you ruined her!” He lunged himself forward and Lana expected him to wrap his hands around her neck, but instead, he grabbed Mary Eunice by the shoulders and shook her. “Sister! Is she holding you hostage? Is she forcing you to say all of this?”

Mary Eunice locked her gaze with his, breathing in sharply and letting a few tears fall down her red, effort-strained cheeks. She looked like a beaten down rose. “No, Dr. Arden. She’s my _friend_ and I care about her. At least she has no ulterior motive to speak to me than friendship.”

Another slap hit her cheek and this time Lana didn’t even wait for the hand to leave Mary Eunice’s body, when she kicked the man on his stomach and forced him to the floor. A crazy need to make him suffer endlessly embraced her and she kicked him again, a scream tearing through her throat and her face covering itself in a waterfall of tears, but before she could do it again, Mary Eunice locked her arms around her waist from behind and shushed her.

The weight of the woman on her back, her breasts pressing softly grounded her, relaxed her nerves.

“You truly have made her a deviant,” the man seethed, crawling away from them, away from their grasp. “I’m going to report this to Sister Jude.” In a swift motion that caught Lana off guard, given the age of the doctor, Dr. Arden’s strong hand this time locked around Lana’s neck and he pushed her against the wall, as his other hand grabbed Mary Eunice and forced her beside her against the wall. His breath ghosted between the two woman and he murmured. “Homosexuality is a sin, after all, my sisters.”

“So is threatening a nun,” a strong voice rose in the hallway, though it was slurred slightly by the drunken state. “And swooning over her, wishing she would get wet over your tiny dick.” Lana watched in horror as a wide smile painted across Sister Jude’s lips.

“I don’t-.”

“Spare me the details, Arthur, but I know you and of your filthy little dreams about her. So if you don’t release her ruh-right about this second I _will_ have to report your impropriety to the Monsignor.”

“You have no claims,” he seethed, but his hold on Lana’s neck loosened and the journalist breathed freely, her hand immediately searching for Mary Eunice’s and intertwining their fingers. Mary Eunice’s eyes dropped to their hands and she nudged Lana’s shoulder affectionately, seeking the slightest of comfort. Lana put a protective arm around the younger woman’s frame and silently watched as Sister Jude’s red, glassy eyes blazed victoriously.

“I have a victim. And the Monsignor quite likes our little Sister.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, _bitch_ ,” she grinned. For the first time in ever, Lana found herself thinking of the grin not as wolfishly evil, but comforting. It was nice. Good. Like an alpha protecting her pack. “Now go away, before I have you arrested.”

Dr. Arden cast a longing glance towards the innocent nun, his eyes pleading for her to say something in his defense, but Mary Eunice only squeezed Lana’s hand harder in response, her head laying on the journalist’s shoulder. Lana’s heart leaped in her chest. A satisfied smile drew itself on her lips.

As soon as the man left, the older nun locked her gaze on the two women and though her eyes skimmed over their laced fingers, she did not comment upon it. “You two, shoo away as well. Don’t make me regret saving you.”

 

\--

 

“I’m going to start aversion therapy today.” The woman opposite her flashed a joyful grin. Mary Eunice widened her eyes, tilting her head to a side. The glint in the woman’s eyes was sign enough that she was not mistrustful of the idea, but Mary Eunice felt slightly uncomfortable about it.

It was wrong to believe anything could lie beneath Dr. Thredson’s kind words, but Mary Eunice felt a twinge of worry anytime he laid eyes upon her friend. And aversion therapy didn’t sound any better than any other type of treatment.

_Really? Not better than electro-shock?_

Her eyes caught sight of a mischievous light in Lana’s and she gasped as the older woman spoke. “Check mate.” Dramatically, she kicked Mary Eunice’s king down and smiled victoriously. “I win,” the brunette quipped, “again.”

Mary Eunice raised her hands in defeat. “I’m not as smart as you, Lana, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” growled the journalist. It gave an alluring tilt to her voice, the growl, sending a reaction in the lower part of her belly. Mary Eunice found herself shifting in her seat, averting her gaze, though she had no idea what it meant. _Sister Jude trusts me. Whatever I’m doing, I need to stop it_.

Returning her gaze to Lana’s, she licked her bottom lip. “Well,” she cleared her throat and blushed at the matching flush that bloomed on the older woman’s cheeks. “I wish you luck with your therapy,” Mary Eunice offered in a croaked voice. Her hand covered Lana’s, the warmth of the older woman’s hand comforting. As long as she stayed warm, Mary Eunice would be happy. “I hope you know you have my full support – though I truly don’t believe you need any conversion. You’re,” she bit her tongue on the word ‘ _perfect’,_ instead going for, “valid the way you are. Nothing needs to change.”

The journalist laughed bitterly. Her hand turned around and their fingers laced. For a moment, neither of them spoke, simply watching their fingers waltz together. Lana’s thumb stroked Mary Eunice’s pinkie soothingly. They sighed in unison, content.

They hadn’t discussed much of the night of the storm, but the young nun saw guilt slowly claw its way into Lana’s heart at having abandoned Wendy to her fate: Kit had been captured nearly immediately after his escape, so shaken about _some creatures he had seen_ , he nearly passed out and just ran back into the asylum screaming; Grace and Shelley had made their way out, effectively, it seemed, but there had still come no word of Wendy and though Mary Eunice tried convincing Lana that it did not mean anything, she could see it getting to her.

Moments of peace such as this one could be found, but they were small and rare. Short-lived. Lana was dedicating herself more and more to interacting with Dr. Thredson, claiming he had a way out for her. If she cured herself of her deviancy, if she became heterosexual and stopped loving women, Dr. Thredson would sign the papers and let her out. The young nun could do nothing about it – her heart yearned to claim her hands and arms and remind her that there was nothing to stop loving, for love was a gift of God, but she knew Lana had no intention of changing, just of saving Wendy. Returning to Wendy.

And Mary Eunice had no right to ruin that.

 _I already have_. The thought tugged at her heart like a string on a puppet and she fought back tears.

 _Dear Father, I know I have sinned. Please let me be supportive to her, however. I do not pray Thee for much, just for Wendy to be safe_ , she eyed Lana and flashed a teary smile, squeezing the woman’s hand wistfully. _I know You have a plan for all of us, Lord, but if it makes Lana unhappy – can’t You change it?_

“I must go,” the journalist cut through, unlacing her fingers from Mary Eunice’s. The young nun missed the contact the second the hand left hers and she chastised herself for being so clingy. Lana didn’t deserve that. “Wish me luck.”

The two stood up simultaneously. Glancing over to their sides to see if anybody was watching, the pair closed the distance and embraced quickly. “Best of luck, Lana,” whispered Mary Eunice with as much appreciation and love as she could and before she could kick herself for it, she laid her lips on the woman’s soft, hollow cheek and stepped back quickly. She smoothed her habit and took a few other steps back, trying to distance herself from the other woman lest they rose any attention.

Lingering a gaze upon Mary Eunice’s frame, Lana turned to the door and strode bravely.

“It won’t work,” a manly familiar voice jump-scared her. Mary Eunice turned to the young patient who they had once thought was Bloody Face, but whom the nun could not regard as any more than an ally now. Not a friend, perhaps, the two having not shared enough words for that, but a good ally. She furrowed her brows in confusion and his chest heaved with a sigh. “Her treatment. I don’t know much, not from experience. But you can’t cure gay.”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “But she wants to find Wendy. I have to support her through it.”

Kit chuckled, propping himself against the chess-stool, the hollow of his throat shaking. “But you don’t, do you? You don’t think you can neither pray it away, nor use some stupid therapy for it, right, Sister?”

Personally, she had never prayer for Lana to change, rather hoping for the woman to stay the same. And therapy? It was useless. And moreover therapy with a man as chilling as Dr. Thredson. He reminded her way too much of Dr. Arden and her blind faith for him. She only hoped Lana was not making her same mistake.

“Praying is never supposed to be about praying love away. If prayer demands you to hide your true, loving self, then it is not real prayer and should be abolished,” she shuddered and cleared her throat, glancing towards the man to seek confirmation that he was listening and understanding. “The Lord made love and love is everything that’s good. So – I could never pray it away nor do I think therapy works at all.”

Kit whistled softly, casting a revering look at the young nun. “You-,” he caught himself mid-sentence and shook his head, instead offering a sad gaze, his eyes dropping to his intertwined hands. “I think Wendy might be dead, Sister.”

She acknowledged that only with a nod, words stuck in her throat. _If she’s dead, it’s my fault. All of this_. She swallowed a lump and looked forward, focusing on the record. _Dominique_ played on it, like always, the melody mixed with thuds coming from different parts of the large room. It was soothing, familiar. She couldn’t imagine a life without _Dominique_ playing in her head, its notes mixing themselves into a symphony accompanied by her constant prayers.

“It’d kill Lana,” finally retorted the young nun. “And Lana does not deserve any more sorrow. I’ve caused her a too large deal of issues – if me letting her in here will have resulted in her lover’s death- I couldn’t live with myself, Mr. Walker.”

The man regarded her curiously, a bubble of melancholy surrounding him. “She’s lucky to have you, Sister.”

“No.” Mary Eunice squeezed her rosary and blessed Lana in thought. “I am lucky to have _her_. And I should get going. I think I’ll wait for her near the therapy room.” _Maybe God will hear me better if I’m nearer to her._

Flashing him a quick smile and apology, she moved to the door. Free and willing to reconsider anyone in this place, given how hard it was, she even high-fived Pepper, quipping her a joke and watching proudly as the woman bent over in laughter.

“ _Pepper, Pepper bo Bepper_ , _Banana fanna fo Fepper, fee fy mo Mepper_ ,” sing-sung the overly-cheerful woman. Though confused, Mary Eunice caressed the deformed face and smiled kindly.

Nobody else interrupted her on the way to the therapy room, but once there, she stopped in her tracks, taken aback and retreated a few steps. There were two guards near the door, holding a man in a robe who looked positively excited, a dumb-founded look on his young face. That was Daniel, a patient locked up by his girlfriend for chronic masturbation issues.

When his gaze caught hers, she quickly hid behind the wall, laying against the surface to breathe in deeply. The chill off the wall relaxed her beating heart, but she could not get the feeling that something terrible was about to happen out of her heart. An angry, screaming voice nagged at her repeatedly. _You did this to her._

Counting her prayers on her beads, she prayed to the Lord and to the Virgin Mary for their grace, for their love, for their compassion.

An image of a broken down Lana painted its colors in her mind. A sob escaped her lips and she covered her mouth with her hand, the rosary touching her lips. She kissed it, begging God to be kind.

The sound of sobs broke through her prayer and she quickly jumped onto the corner.

There, on the floor, was Lana. Her beautiful friend Lana was sprawled on the floor, begging Dr. Thredson to let her continue the treatment, but the man didn’t want to, claiming it was in her best interest. Stale eyes challenged Lana’s glassy ones. Tears streamed down her hollow cheeks and into her open mouth and down her chin. The man smiled kindly and left, telling the guards to take the woman away to her cell to relax.

Then, his gaze caught Mary Eunice’s and he froze, a glare flashing in his eyes. It lasted only a second and he smiled thereafter, tilting his head to a side. “Sister,” he greeted her, looking down at Lana with something akin to pity in his eyes. “I see you care about our _friend_ here.”

“Dr. Thredson,” retorted Mary Eunice simply. “Peace of the Lord be always with you for helping her.”

“And with you also,” his lips twitched in the form of a quick smile and Mary Eunice didn’t spare him another glance, her eyes locking onto the small frame of the journalist.

Like a magnet, she was drawn to the woman and, shooing the guards away in a few words, she dropped to the floor and grabbed Lana’s cold hands. “No-,” argued the woman, pouting and averting Mary Eunice’s gaze. “I-.”

Mary Eunice seized her hands forcefully and intertwined their fingers, shushing the other woman comfortingly. “I’m sorry, but please, listen to me, please.” Lana shook her head, fighting against the nun’s hold, trying to turn herself around. There was guilt and shame written all over her huddled figure and it sent a surge to Mary Eunice’s heart to make Dr. Thredson suffer as he had made Lana suffer. “What did he do to you?”

“No,” the journalist whined, her breath coming in short. “He- he’s hulp- me.”

Mary Eunice sent her a pitiful look. “Breathe, Lana.” A sweeter nickname tingled at the tip of her tongue. _Sweetie. Love. Dearest. Sweetheart._ She cupped the woman’s face between her face and stroked her cheekbones, trailing the outline of her bones down to her jaw. A thumb rested on her chin, while her other hand cleared a few tears, forcing the woman to look at her. Sad, brown eyes fixed on blue ones and blinked, a flood of new tears falling down. “Can you speak?” The journalist shook her head, gasping sharply. “Then don’t. Come here.”

She grabbed the woman and pulled her in closer, stroking the crown of her head and dropping a soft kiss there. Long fingers threaded through sticky hair. There was a stench of sweat, retch and dirt and something else entirely mingled in the air, invading her nostrils, but she didn’t turn away, instead nuzzling her hair in it and dropping another sloppy kiss to the woman’s temple. In an attempt to hold the woman as close as humanly possible, she squeezed an arm around Lana’s small frame.

After a few seconds of trying to escape the loving grasp, Lana relaxed and wrapped her thin arms around Mary Eunice’s waist, laying her head on the nun’s chest. Her mouth and tears left darker spots of the young nun’s habit. It felt right that way.

“Shh,” murmured Mary Eunice. Feeling helpless, she smoothed Lana’s hair.

“I can’t- bruh- breathe- h-huh- _here_ ,” Lana explained, a mewl escaping her lips. A violet sob thrust her backwards and Mary Eunice caught her by her arms, trying to ground Lana as best as she could. She found that in situations of crisis, staying grounded was the most important part of not letting oneself break. Find a footing, stabilize oneself. Breathe and try to think clearly.

“You’re safe here,” she attempted, her hands tightening their hold on Lana’s sides. The woman shook her head, repeating a mantra of ‘no’s and ‘disappointed’, along with some other unintelligible whimpers. “You’re with me.”

Shivering, the older woman wheezed and coughed, a drip of vomit catching on her bottom lip and staying there.

“I feel- trapped.” Admitted Lana, a new wave of tears shuddering her entire body. “He made me- he made- a photo of Wendy.” _Wendy_. Mary Eunice wanted to end Lana’s suffering, stop her from talking, but Lana pursued onto her quest. “He made me- I had to- I puked. I couldn’t tuh-touch D- I can’t brea- _Trapped_.” The young nun put a finger on the woman’s whimpering lips, delicate but final.

 _Trapped_. The woman felt trapped.

Suddenly, an idea flashed in her mind and the young nun didn’t push it back in her mind, rather grasping onto it. “Can you stand up?” Her voice was small and filled with so much affection and worry, she was afraid she’d burst if there were more.

“I-.” Lana glanced at her questioningly, but bobbed her head in agreement. “I can- try.” Mary Eunice nodded approvingly. A whine bumbled in Lana’s throat when the young nun began untwining herself from the woman’s grasp and she chuckled, grabbing Lana’s hand and holding it close to her face. “I’m still here,” she promised, sealing it with a kiss on the palm.

A look of horror flashed in the journalist’s eyes, but it was gone ever so quickly and Mary Eunice opted to ignore it.

“Put your hand around my back,” she ordered. Once on their feet, Lana staggered to the side and retched, a yellowish snot trailing down her chin and onto her gown. Mary Eunice closed their distance and quickly used the hem of her habit to clean it off as best as she could, turning a deaf ear to Lana’s whines of disagreement.

“’M sorry for ruining your habit,” mumbled the wretched woman. Mary Eunice shook her head, punctuating the seriousness of her actions by cupping Lana’s face and laying a wet kiss on her chin. A bitter flavor invaded her mouth and burned her lips, but she could not care less. _Lord, give me strength._

“Let’s go.”

Slowly, and trying to avoid any guards, the two women staggered forward to an illuminated door. There, Mary Eunice stopped and propped Lana against a wall, laying a hand against the wall to ground herself and another under the woman’s chin.

“I’m going to have to let go of you now.” Lana whimpered, shaking her head violently, a pout on her lips. “Here,” she laced her fingers with Lana’s and smiled softly. “Hold my hand.”

She walked over to the door, dragging the miserable journalist along, but the woman didn’t mind. “What’r’we doin’ ‘ere?”

Mary Eunice frowned. “Let’s make it a surprise, shall we?” Blinking in confusion, Lana nodded weakly. The young nun caressed her face with her free hand and smiled. “Great, then close your eyes. Trust me?”

“Yes,” croaked the journalist.

 _Yes_. The simple word sent a fire within her chest and her heart fluttered with the force of a thousand wings.

Wasting no time, she put a hand inside the pocket of her habit and pulled out a set of keys. It was always with her, despite Sister Jude having forbidden that – initially, she used to use this door to go out for the night and feel the fresh air, but given her new position and her new friendships, neither feeding raspers nor breathing the fresh air was needed, therefore she kept it for the memories. Or for future reference.

She flicked the keys and tried to guess the right one with her pads. Trying her luck, she put in the keyhole. “Darn it,” she muttered, her heart racing, when it didn’t fit. Her fingers flicked over another and she slipped it inside, smoothly. The woman beside her, whose weight was now laying on her shoulder and whose mouth was leaving stains on her habit, sighed deeply in approval. “Keep your eyes closed, please.”

It was not easy relying her strength on only one arm, but holding the journalist’s hand in a tight grasp and squeezing it lightly, feeling Lana’s warm breath against her cheek, she realized it was worth it.

As to avoid any clutter, Mary Eunice grabbed the handle and twitched it very slowly, a screeching sound being heard only from up close.

A blinding light hit her face and she put a hand over Lana’s face protectively on instinct. The fresh air filled her nostrils and she opened her mouth to feel the taste of air on her tongue. It was a musky taste, sort of humid, droplets of water sticking to her tongue – it was perfect.

It was quite honestly a beautiful day: the valley basked in the sunlight ever so greenly; a soft wind blew along the lane and danced with the trees in a sweet symphony; birds sang along with the crickets, their melodies so unlike _Dominique_ ; colorful flowers bloomed near their feet as Mary Eunice helped Lana stomp onto the green grass – it was like a Spring’s day. The notion was quite odd, given that it was full-on November, going onto December.

Even the shade from the roof over the door could not reduce the light. The skies and earth were almost showing off for Lana Winters, brave patient of the Briarcliff Institution, survivor of too many crimes – it was breathtaking.

“I can- I can breathe,” stuttered Lana, gasping after a sharp intake of air. “Why can I breathe?”

Mary Eunice brightened, a cheeky smile finding its way on her lips. She closed the distance between them without thinking – she just wanted to see Lana’s splendid brown eyes when she opened them. Cupping Lana’s cheek and delicately grazing her fads over her cheekbone, she leaned and laid a soft kiss on the skin she had caressed. “Open your eyes, Lana.”

Slowly, wet eyelashes freed themselves ones from the others and two chocolate eyes locked with hers. A glint of disbelief was twitching in them and Mary Eunice fought the urge to scream ‘ _Believe me! Believe me! The Lord be praised; I grew a spine!’_.

Letting the woman have a moment of dawning, Mary Eunice stepped aside.

It was as though the Holy Spirit had touched Lana: the corners of her eyes crinkled, her lips stretched into a toothy smile that went from ear-to-ear, her chest heaved with a deep breath and her arms spread all around her, basking in the sunlight. A look of bewilderment bloomed on her face like a flower. She _was_ a flower. Like petals that almost revive themselves under the sunlight, Lana’s cheeks regained a rosy color and flushed when the woman caught Mary Eunice’s adoring gaze. Like a child enjoying her playtime, Lana twirled around herself, her gown flying up carelessly and catching the young nun’s revering eye.

A teary eye caught Mary Eunice’s and before the nun could decline, she found herself twirled around. She giggled despite the sudden spike of anxiety, carefree. Her eyes twinkled and she grabbed Lana’s hand to twirl her around again, reveling in the blissful look that dawned on the older woman’s face.

The sunlight basking them was like a gift from God, a blessing. Everything was God – nature was, after all, an imitation of all that God held dear. Twisting in Lana’s arms and falling on the cold grass under the roof, her back on the ground and Lana above her with a halo behind her head like an angel, Mary Eunice found God in only one person: Lana Winters.

“I can’t believe you,” breathed Lana raggedly, her breath hitched and quickened both by the activity and the position. Mary Eunice shrugged, laying a hand on Lana’s chest and reveling in the feeling of the accelerated heartbeat under her shivering palm. “We could get caned for this. Above all, you could.”

“I’d do anything for you, Lana.” _I love you_. The words didn’t leave the confinement of her throat, but they felt like a bull running onto cage, forcing themselves out. _I love you. I love you. I love you_. They were like a song, her beating heart being an instrument to this concert of love. What a stunning sentence – why couldn’t she say it out loud?

The journalist shook her head, disentangling herself from Mary Eunice’s grasp and lying beside her.

After a long silence, Lana twined her bony fingers with the young nun’s. “Promise me you won’t die for me, though.” _Like Wendy might have_ , guessed the younger woman. She opened her mouth to argue. Isn’t love sacrifice? Don’t friends die for each other? “I’m already afraid enough that Wendy might be dead – or in grave danger. Please,” she locked her gaze with Mary Eunice’s, firmly staring her down to add more meaning to her plea, “don’t die for me.”

Mary Eunice looked away. A great part of being a bride of Jesus was the complete and utter devotion to others – to imitate Jesus Himself. For if God demanded your sacrifice, as He has planned and written in His Book – you are not allowed to hold onto life. However, the sharp tug on her fingers and the hard look in Lana’s eyes forced her to give in. She propped herself a little and laid a delicate kiss on the hollow of Lana’s cheek. “I promise.”

They sighed in unison, simply lying on the cold grass and reveling in the sunlight. It felt as though nothing could neither ruin the moment nor life afterwards in general.

“He forced me to masturbate myself in front of a picture of Wendy,” blurted Lana out of nowhere. Mary Eunice choked on her spit and widened her eyes. She wanted the woman to stop – she knew it’d upset them both, in more ways than one, but she let her continue, simply acknowledging the words with a nudge on the shoulder. “And then I had to touch Daniel.” Lana’s breath hitched and she sniffed. “I puked, twice. It was so wrong – I’m never going to convince him I’m straight. He says it’s ok – that he’ll help me, but what if it doesn’t work out?”

Mary Eunice used the back of her back to catch a lone tear. “You know I don’t think you need to change. There’s nothing to change.” _I love you in any way you are_. Oh, how freeing it was to think that! _Love. Love. Love._ “And how can you fully trust him, Lana?”

The journalist raised her eyebrows, cocking her head towards Mary Eunice in confusion. “Sister Naivety doesn’t trust somebody?”

The young nun chuckled, a tinge of red painting its blush on her cheeks. “No... And I don’t want you to think I’m not supportive of your attempt to – to escape the grasp of this place. I can easily understand that. Lord knows how much I have wished for you to leave.” Lana cocked an eyebrow and Mary Eunice sputtered a quick follow up. “I mean, I wanted you to have a happy life outside of here, because that’s what you want – and deserve. And I feel like I sent you in here, like it’s my fault, so mmm-,” a hand covered her mouth and stopped her rambling.

“I was teasing you,” laughed Lana. “You’ve done more for me than anyone here.” With Lana’s hand still on her mouth, Mary Eunice whined but couldn’t argue. “Even if I’ll leave, I’ll try not to forget you.”

 _Try_? Of course, it would be stupid of Mary Eunice to hope that the woman would truly never forget her, given that if she found Wendy as well, she’d have no reason to remember such a dumb nun like her. Traitorous tears welled up in her eyes and a cold hand tightened its grasp around her throat. She forced a smile.

“So will I.”

“But you still don’t trust Dr. Thredson, do you?”

Mary Eunice sighed. “No.”

“Why?” There was no bitterness in the question – and yet it felt accusatory.

Why didn’t Mary Eunice trust him? He reminded her of Dr. Arden. And she had blindly trusted Dr. Arden though there had been always plenty of signs that he was mistrustful. It would kill her if Dr. Thredson turned out to be as evil and manipulative as Dr. Arden, perhaps hiding a secret affection for Lana like Dr. Arden had for Mary Eunice. The mere idea rose a bile in her throat.

“There’s something in his eyes – the way he looks at me, mistrustful – and then there is a way how he looks at you. It makes me uncomfortable,” she admitted weakly, searching for Lana’s comforting gaze. There was an inexplicable look in the other woman’s eyes, as if she was contemplating Mary Eunice and trying to counter her. “I feel like he’s hiding something – and it’s wrong, because he has done everything right and nothing to prove otherwise, but it’s my God given sense that’s speaking to me. I pray I am wrong.” Her thumb stroked Lana’s palm. “Please don’t hate me.”

Lana gasped, propping on her arm and putting a hand under Mary Eunice’s chin to force her to face her. “I could never hate you. I-,” she bit her lower lip and averted her gaze. “You’re my friend. And I understand your concerns. But I think I need to take this leap of faith.” The journalist breathed in deeply and spread her free arm. Her chest heaved with a deep sigh. With her hair sprawled and her gown stretched, Lana looked like an angel. “If he doesn’t save me, then you’ll have won, alright?”

Mary Eunice wanted to argue that there was no winning nor losing where Lana was concerned – being near her was victory enough and separation was loss.

In that moment, however, she nodded and set herself upon a sole idea: to find out what Dr. Thredson was truly up to. And she supposed she had enough time to find out.

 

\--

 

It was a cold Friday December morning, with a foggy sky and raindrops covering the grass. Like a sad movie, it saddened any soul. The mist in the air, rather than being comforting, was like a blindfold on one’s eyes, capable of saddening the brightest of patients at Briarcliff. Even Pepper lost her vigor. Everything felt useless and dull. _Sad_.

 _It was Friday morning_ and Lana was bound to leave any day now, trusting Dr. Thredson blindly to save her. He was kind, offered the journalist protection and frank aid that wasn’t a simple, empty promise, but rather material. It was perfect: Lana would be free and would search for her lover as she wished to – then why did Mary Eunice feel like screaming and accusing God of injustice? And what was even unjust in all of this?

Dr. Thredson.

There was something off about him, Mary Eunice knew. Lana didn’t believe her, however and despite the woman’s reassuring touches and words, the young nun couldn’t shake off the feeling that the most innocent of words could break their bond apart and tear her heart. She couldn’t confide in Sister Jude either – the older nun seemed rather shaken by something else entirely and the only other person whom Mary Eunice trusted, Kit Walker, had blind faith in Dr. Thredson as well. So, who could she trust?

Her feet dragged her to Dr. Arden’s office.

Over a week had passed since she had last spoken to the man, the last one being during the storm. Anytime her mind went to him, his words reverberated and punched her as hardly as they had that night. He had lost her faith when he had hurt Lana, but she had tried to maintain a constant friendship with him for Lana’s sake – but he had crossed a line.

In the back of her mind, her own words repeated like a mantra. She had lied for the sake of the situation – and yet it hadn’t felt like a lie. Despite having simply wanted to ire the man, to send him away with as much resentment as she could muster so he’d stop focusing on Lana and insulting the ever-so-innocent woman, it had been oddly too truthful.

And she couldn’t look him in the face now. The feeling of his rough hand still stung on her cheeks.

Lana had said, however, Dr. Arden was a good ally. And who else could she trust to look over Dr. Thredson? A few lies that she’d grit through her teeth could give her the confirmation that the psychiatrist was good and she needn’t worry – or the opposite, and she’d keep the journalist near her for a while longer.

 _Selfish_. _You should hate yourself for this. The lengths you’d take to keep her close are disgusting._

Her hand hovered near the door, trembling and hesitant. What would she say? And would he let her in? The last time, there’d been hatred in his eyes. And pleading. And she’d chosen Lana, as she would any day.

 _Lord, give me strength. Let him help me. He is my last resort,_ she thought, her fingers instinctively tightening their hold around her rosary. Reciting a quick prayer to the Virgin Mary, she knocked on the door once. And then twice.

“Who is it?” Came Dr. Arden’s voice. Mary Eunice twitched, shaking on her feet. His voice sounded wrong, irritated. That was never a good sign. With a hand on the wall to ground herself, she swallowed down a lump.

“It’s me, Dr. Arden,” she called out weakly. “Sister Mary Eunice.”

The sound of footsteps echoed in the locked room and then the door cracked open to reveal a very tired, white face. Mary Eunice was taken aback by the angry look painted across his old features, his eyes ablaze with white fury. She gulped loudly, her nails digging into the wall and her mind screaming an urgent prayer to the Lord.

After a few moments of consideration, the man offered her a grimace and widened the door. “Come in, Sister.”

Hesitating, Mary Eunice stood frozen. Upon his insistent gaze, however, she stepped into the closed room, its walls having never felt more suffocating. It was too locked, too far away from anyone’s reach. If anyone screamed in it, nobody would even notice. Or it’d be too late for salvation. The thought alone sent a chill along her spine.

She turned to the man anxiously, her lips parted. Tears didn’t come hardly to her eyes, having been there all along. Her eyes glassed and a tear trailed its way down her cheek in a matter of seconds. “I know I have failed you, sir,” she began slowly and watched his reaction: his back straightened, his eyes setting firmly upon hers, but there was no sign of his usual reverence, rather pity – disgust; he was looking at her as if she were one of the patients, whose opinion was to be swept aside and often enough misused, abused. Like he did with all those patients that he killed for his own pleasures, his own experiments. It was terrifying. “I came here with a confession – of fear, of worry.”

“Confession?” Scoffed the doctor, his lips twitching into a venomous smirk. “The dirty nun has come to confess?”

Mary Eunice put a hand on his couch and averted his gaze. Her heart sped its beat, feeling like it would burst any second. Nausea settled in her throat and she tried very hard to even her breath. “Yes. I have- Dr. Thredson has- he wanted me to-.” She stopped, fighting back tears. “Dr. Thredson has tried to _rape_ me, Dr. Arden.”

A dark look crossed over the old man’s face. He put a hand on the other end of the couch and glared at her so threateningly, she could feel the hairs on her back raising.

“And you came to me with this – why?” He seethed the words as if he were spitting poison. Like a wolf eyeing a prey, his eyes were dark and scary. It felt as though he was ready to devour her, waiting only for one wrong word that might give him the chance to jump.

She didn’t like the direction where the conversation was going, having planned it all differently. He was supposed to believe her immediately, not attack her – the negative idea hadn’t truly even crossed her head.

 _How dumb._ The Monsignor, Sister Jude and all those who called her stupid were right.

“Because,” she began, letting another tear fall down her cheek. This time, it burned in its wake and left her trembling. “Because I thought you cared.”

“I don’t care about filthy dykes,” Dr. Arden retorted quickly. “That Lana Winters has stained you – and now you pine over her. Let her touch you.” He crossed over, coming closer to her, a threatening finger on her face. She eyed it fearfully, her eyes skimming from the finger to his own, glaring eyes and then back. “You have forsaken God Himself for a woman like that. You are a disgrace, _Sister_. If his hands have lain on you – he’s done right. Perhaps every man in this institution should have a go at you to let bring back on the straight road.”

His face was mere inches apart from hers, his hot breath mingled with hers. There was a stench of alcohol in his breath that invaded her senses and provoked a gagging response that she stifled down with a whine.

 _This isn’t right_.

“I thought you would-,” she stuttered, biting her quivering bottom lip and then locking her gaze with his, pleading him silently. But no pity glinted in his eyes. “I thought you would talk to him, that is all, Dr. Arden. I don’t- I have never- I-.”

“You haven’t what?” A rough hand cupped her cheek and bony fingers dug into her soft skin, parting her lips. “You haven’t fucked Miss Winters? Never dreamed of her body pressed against yours?” _I can’t control my dreams_. Mary Eunice shook her head desperately, her eyes now filled with true tears that wet her cheeks in a flood. A sob wracked her body and she put another hand on the couch to gain some stability. “You are a filthy liar, Sister. Too transparent to lie, you know that?”

“N-no,” she whimpered, trying to free herself from his grasp, but his other hand was now on the collar of her habit, tugging it towards himself and she couldn’t move, frozen.

“All you women are like that,” he spat, a drip of his saliva ending on her nose. She grimaced, fear seeping into every part of her being. _Oh, Lord, what have I done wrong to deserve this? Do I deserve this?_ “Lying bitches. And women of the habit – you are worse, I see it now.”

Mary Eunice bit her bottom lip, drawing blood, its taste feeling comforting. Her eyes closed, her lashes lacing in a desperate attempt to escape the situation. Perhaps if she imagined this wasn’t happening, she would be safe in Lana’s embrace, where she felt powerful and almighty. She had only come here to aid her – why did she have to feel so threatened now?

_I am useless. I can’t even lie to protect her life._

“I have not lied – I am not,” she cried. “Dr. Thredson – he’s evil, Dr. Arden. When he- he put his hands on my body, I puked.” She had never been touched like that, had never seen anything of the sort and it was hard to lie about it with no experience. “I couldn’t- he made me touch his- his _thing_. I had never felt worse, Dr. Arden. Can’t you see? I feel safe only now that I’m here. I feel safe in your office.” Appeasing at his soft side would have usually worked.

But it was naught.

A loud slap echoed in the tight room. It felt like a thousand promises broken – a thousand prayers forgotten. It shattered her heart, shattered her being. There was no Lana with her now, to comfort her, to protect her. And Mary Eunice was frozen, always has been. What was she without Lana anyway?

Only a shell of her true self.

His hands seized her wrists and pushed her against the couch hardly. “Oh, you feel safe here, is that so?” She nodded sharply, her head bobbing several times with no meaning. Another stream of tears cleared her red face, her nose tapped with snot and she parted her lips to allow air to come in through it. “Where is your lover, then? Has she abandoned you to your fate?”

 _She would never. She’s good_ , she wanted to say. “No,” she only managed instead. A breathy whimper left her mouth when his knee pressed against her lower parts. It felt wrong. And yet she couldn’t move. She gagged, looking away from his cruel face, but he forced her to lock his gaze with his. “I’ll leave, now-.”

Another slap hit her cheek. “You’ll leave when I tell you to.”

Mary Eunice whined, a trail of burning tears dampening her habit and making her sniffle sadly. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, trying to look away from him once again.

“Tell the truth, Sister,” he lowered his face so that it was lips were only a breath away from hers. It was revolting. His nose was on her cheeks and she could feel his breath touching her skin in a way she’d never wanted it to. “Did you come here to me because you hoped I would fuck you straight?” Mary Eunice shook her head, mewling. His grasp was tight around her wrist and all she wanted was a Holy grace to come and save her from it. She focused on the feeling of the couch behind her, digging in her lower back, the pain stabilizing her. “Has God spoken to you, disapproving of your actions with Miss Winters?”

 _No_. _Please stop._

She closed her eyes when his hot mouth pressed against hers, his lips wet and intrusive against hers. Locking them tight, she tried to wriggle, but he was stronger, faster.

A bile rose in her throat when she heard the sound of an opening zip and she opened her eyes in horror, landing them on his pants that were now down his ankles. She looked away and locked her gaze on the phone.

_Lana’s face painted its image in her mind, smiling, happy. She was overjoyed, dancing in the sunlight. She was kissing Mary Eunice’s cheek. She was thanking her. She was talking on the phone. Playing cards. Playing chess. Her soft, brown eyes were locked with Mary Eunice’s, comforting. Her hair was a mess and yet she looked like a masterpiece in an art gallery. The crinkles around her eyes were deep and yet she looked youthful, carefree, Godly. Like an angel. Or God Himself. Herself._

_“I love you, Sister,” she said – though she had never said it before, Mary Eunice could feel the truth in it. Could taste it on her own lips, on her own tongue, along with Lana’s hot breath. It was sweet, protective, loving. Affectionate. “I cannot thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me. You’re so brave.”_

_Mary Eunice could believe her. She wasn’t sure how, but it gave her strength, it empowered her to be loved by such an amazing woman. It was right. God had given her this love and she deserved it._

When his wet lips trailed a line on the hollow of her throat and a finger dragged her panties down, Lana’s image disappeared and the nausea hit her over like a wave and prompted a sudden retch that she could not contain. Bending over his shoulder, she left a dark, yellowish stain on his suit.

“’M suh-,” she slurred, a bitter aftertaste still on her teeth and tongue.

It had worked, however. Whatever gear it had turned in his head, it prompted the man to release his grasp on her and step away as if he had been burned. “Sister, I-,” Dr. Arden stuttered, staring at his own hands in horror. His eyes caught a stain under Mary Eunice and they gasped simultaneously at the dark, red blood on the floor. “Sister- don’t speak of this, ever.” _Please_. Though he did not say it, she could hear it. There was fear in his small, blue eyes, but it didn’t fit him. It looked like a hawk afraid of a mouse. It didn’t appease her, didn’t make her heart turn in compassion. “I’ll do anything.”

Mary Eunice shook her head, her fingers digging into the couch as her legs felt like jelly. Weak, she propped herself against the object and gulped. _Say it! Stop being selfish! Think of Lana!_ Her mouth opened to speak, prompted by her own thoughts. Lana needed her. Lana deserved to be protected and she would have no use of a dumb, helpless nun like her. “Duh- Doctuh Thruh-.” _Speak, child_! She couldn’t. Her lips quivered and she could feel the room closing around her.

A hand touched her shoulder, wary, and she shook it off angrily, a set of tears dampening her face once again in a quiver. The entire earth beneath felt like it was trembling and falling apart. There was no safe space, no escape. The couch felt light years away one second – and a breath away another.

“I’ll go to him, yes,” his voice intruded into her haze, but it was not grounding. It felt like a dagger into her heart, sharp, twisting, causing her to bleed. She wailed softly, her legs giving away, the cold marble floor touching her cheek, hard.

Like waves during a storm the floor tiles danced beneath her, a whirring feeling filling the young nun’s ears and lulling her into a conscious-but-unmoving state. Her hands laid numb on the floor, fingers trembling because of the cold and the fear. Uncontrolled sobs wracked her body, choking her. Everything felt as though it were trying to kill her, strangle her.

An immense pain in her chest seized her and made her wheeze and she stared forward blankly. As all her other sense whirled into a hurricane of actions she could not control, her mind numbed out.

 

\--

 

 _6 pm._ She was freed at 6 pm. Dr. Thredson had said so and had kept his promise.

It felt surreal, standing in his sitting room, free. No longer under Sister Jude’s threatening gaze and Dr. Arden’s tortures. She was no longer forced to stay still in one place, controlled by the will of the Holy Church and Holy Medicine. Yes, she still had an obligation to continue her treatment, so she could be released into society freely, but that could be a matter of another day – and Dr. Thredson would help her.

Then why did she feel so uneasy?

_Mary Eunice hadn’t been there to say goodbye to her._

Lana had looked everywhere around the institution, asking anyone whom she could trust if they had seen her, but the woman was either moving around too fast, or, to put it quite simply, avoiding her. It had tugged at the journalist’s heart more than she could admit it, the thought of the sweet nun actively ignoring her and not allowing her to even say farewell. Not even offering her a last embrace or handshake.

The ghost of Mary Eunice’s fingers tickled her palm and she clenched her fists as she tried to make any sort of conversation with the man. She missed her, wanted her to sit beside her now and comfort her, remind her that everything would be alright now, that she needn’t worry; that were was nothing wrong with Dr. Thredson’s calm – too calm – house and that the crickets were not singing nearby only because of an upcoming storm, and not because they feared the man as much as she did now.

All she wanted was a comforting nudge, a soft smile directed at her, perhaps just blue eyes locked onto hers in a silent declaration of affection. Why hadn’t she been there?

Fear twisted her insides as if they were wet rags. A hot, palpable venom seeped into the cracks of her bones and into her heart, squeezing it repeatedly. Tears burned in her eyes and she had to fight them, because there could be no wrong with Mary Eunice, she could not be in danger. Not when Lana had left her alone there now, to her fate.

A bitter laugh echoed in the back of her mind. She had abandoned Wendy for the idea of praise and money, of fame and now the woman was in danger – and now she had abandoned Mary Eunice for freedom. It disgusted her, made a bile rise in her throat. She was selfish, evil. Both of them deserved better – a better lover and a better friend.

Somehow, with either of them, it felt as though the words combined and overlapped, coming together into one, but she pushed the notion away, away from her grasp, because it was too dangerous to consider now, too scary.

Dr. Thredson’s house should feel like a safe haven, like an oasis in the middle of the desert, with water and fresh plants and sunlight made not to kill, but to revive. It should feel like the place of her dreams, with its crème colors and its interesting lamps and a _phone_. Everything she had dreamed of for the past months was here now, before her eyes, at arm’s length, only a touch away from being hers and setting her free.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

Perhaps it was because despite the man’s presence, she felt lonely. Or because despite being here, she still had no right to just outright stand up and take phone and call. Perhaps she simply missed her own house, her own bed, embraced in Wendy’s arms. Or even her bed at Briarcliff, where the young Sister would sneak some break for her and play poker with her.

“ _Red_ ,” she told him upon being asked which wine she preferred – it was a lie. Wendy’s favorite wine was red and Mary Eunice’s favorite color was red as well – so she chose it for them. Personally, between red and white wine, she chose vodka. But she wanted to hold a part of them within her.

The phone once again caught her attention and as though in a daze, she walked over to it. Stomping her feet on the cold floor, she felt as though the chains on her ankles were falling apart with each step. Quickly, she grabbed the handle of the phone and put it against her ear, while her other hand worked on the numbers.

As the line rang, breath caught in her head.

 _This is it. I can call Lois now and perhaps stay at her house for the night instead. This place is too illuminated to sleep peacefully._ She needed some grounding, some reminder that she wasn’t alone, that despite Wendy being in danger – and perhaps Mary Eunice as well – she was free and safe.

She hadn’t thought of Lois in a long while, honestly, either. The woman hadn’t called her nor written to her after the madhouse ordeal, but she wanted to believe she still had a friend in her. Lana needed a friend.

The line went dead. “No calls.” Said Dr. Thredson’s deep voice and she eyed him in horror. Why did he do that?

“I was just trying to get a hold of my friend Lois. She might have heard something about Wendy.” Separation dipped in her voice.

“Lana, you have to realize that I am at risk as well here,” he retorted firmly, trying to convince her of his point of view. But anything he said now felt venomous, poisonous. The chains at her ankles were back, sealed tight.

It was suffocating. The room, the lamps – the beautiful lamps. He turned on one as she sipped the wine and it caught her attention immediately. All the lamps gave her the chills, for an inexplicable reason. There was something off about them. Their color, their texture. And the plate with the mints. It all felt like from an alien movie – and yet too close to humanity, as if someone with no understanding of how humans normally lived stripped them of their belongings and put things together casually – and yet very precisely as well.

Something was off, she could feel it.

Her fingernails dug into her thighs, drawing blood – a habit she had gotten at Briarcliff, now that she thought of it. The madhouse was a place of such pain and sorrow, the only good things came from Mary Eunice, quite honestly. A bright smile appeared in her mind’s eye and like a string it pulled at her heart. _Will I ever see her again?_ She needed to.

“-quite busy today, which is good,” laughed the man and she returned her attention to him lazily. Her eyes dropped onto his lap and then back onto his face. His hands were twitching, tapping a certain rhythm. There was also a wary look in his eyes.

Lana smoothed the couch beneath her and then the cupboard. Everything was neat clean, not even a spot of dust.

“You’ve cleaned the house for me very well, Dr. Thredson,” she murmured thoughtfully, offering him a kind smile. It was all very clean. The smell of different cleaning products only now truly identified itself in her nose. The bile churned in her stomach traitorously and urgently, begging her to escape this confined place.

“Yes, I wanted you to feel as welcome as possible, Lana,” he smiled back.

But his smile was threatening now. ‘ _You’re the one who’s going to write my story’_ reverbed in the back of mind and her eyes widened slightly – as little as she could muster lest she caught his attention. _Oh, God, please tell me I’m imagining things._

Except it made sense. The pieces all came together to form a clear picture: the lamps made of interestingly light texture, skin colored – and the skull-like plate with the mints; and above all, his interest in Kit Walker’s case. Of course Kit Walker was innocent – he had said so himself, playing her into his game, making her one his puppets.

Kit Walker was not Bloody Face, because Dr. Thredson was.

 _No_. She needed to puke, the notion too absurd and yet too palpable. It was wrong to mistrust the man who had done so much for her – but then why did he not want her to call Lois? And why was he so interested in Kit Walker’s case?

She needed to get out. The air in her throat was too little – she needed fresh air, like that time after the aversion therapy. Oh, Mary Eunice knew how to console her. She hoped nothing had happened to her.

Making up an excuse about needing the restroom, she stood up and made her way towards the corridor. Every door was her possible route out; every door could lead her away from his cold eyes.

Nausea hit her senses as she opened a door, revealing a dark room that she was sure she had never been supposed to see. Or perhaps yes. Who knew anymore?

She gasped when the lights turned on and she turned to the man. He was still holding his glass of wine and there was a slight smirk on his lips.

“I think I made a wrong turn,” she chuckled fearfully, a scared smile drawing on her lips.

The man locked his gaze with hers, then turned to his own stuff and sighed. “I see you’ve found my little,” he paused and sighed once again, eyeing her threateningly, “hobby.”

In the yellow light of the lamp he had turned on, her eyes scanned the different objects of the room: the scalpels, the skin hanging from the top and the ribs and legs on the wall, hung by some wire she could not see.

Her eyes widened in terror and she breathed heavily, the air coming to her throat in a rasp. He was Bloody Face. He was. _Oh, God, help me. Let me be wrong. Perhaps it’s just some material, not skin. Not actual bones. Maybe he took them from a laboratory – it doesn’t have to mean anything._

“You make furniture?” She quipped hopefully, her hands tight around her sides, trying very hard not to touch anything.

“Lamps, mainly. I make the shades myself,” he said, his voice low. It sounded the same as any other day – but now it sent Lana’s heart racing in her ribcage, thumping so hard it felt as though it might crush a hole in her chest. It’d hurt less than the betrayal, anyway.

Tears brimmed at the bridges of her eyes and she trembled as she asked him the next questions. “Really? What kind of material do you use?” She already knew, but she needed the confirmation. Or perhaps she was waiting for some angel to come and save her. Hit him on the head and lead her to her actual salvation.

She was stupid. Of course she was. Always trusting the wrong people. It was a surprise Mary Eunice hadn’t turned out to be psychopath as well, given that anyone she met now was either crazy or bordering on it.

Dr. Thredson inhaled as he replied, “skin,” and pushed a button with a smile.

The ground beneath her disappeared and darkness enveloped her as she fell.

 _Oh, Lord, save me_ , was her last thought before she hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! this is my first AHS fic (and given how slow I write, might be my only one) and I would really love to know what you think of it!  
> As a Divine Comedy whore, I obviously made the title a reference to it. Plus, the three parts of this fic actually symbolize Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso! :D


	2. Viver, Ch'è Un Correre A La Morte (Life, Which Is Merely A Race To Death)

It felt like an eternity before she saw anyone.

She stared at the wall for a long time, not even passing out, her mind so frozen and yet so active, repeating the whole scene before her eyes without a stop. Her fingers tapped a rhythm in Morse Code, begging for help. Just a simple SOS. It was the easiest sentence to write in Morse Code and anyone with any sort of training had to know it.

And so her fingers used it as a lifeline.

In the back of her mind, a tiny person used the code as a call for help, for her mouth couldn’t move in a desperate cry and her throat was so dry and ached so badly, that her entire being felt as if it would explode if she spoke.

Utter pain broke through her anytime she convulsed or retched on her own face. There was a yellowish liquid right underneath her nose, slick. But her nose was tapped with snot that came from crying too much and she didn’t feel anything. After a while, even the cold beneath her cheek had lessened and slowly dissipated into a dull ache. It was harmless now, and warm. Her body heat had slowly given itself to the marble floor and it made her tremble.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, in a frozen state. Not in a dreaming state and yet not awake either.  
Only one thing was clear within her: she’d rather die than be found like this.

When she saw the woman’s black shoes and black pantyhose, it felt like a dream.

A face appeared before her as the woman crouched. She had a kind face. White like paper and covered with a black fishnet veil attached to a stylish hat, typical of the 1940s – she had seen one in pictures of her mother, the ones her aunt had kept. Her hand was covered in a black glove – the material was smooth as it touched Mary Eunice’s hand and it felt comforting.

Her entire aura was comforting. It was as though she came only to those who needed protection, a safe haven.

Mary Eunice had never seen her before, had never lain her eyes on a person more elegant – though Lana, before being imprisoned, had had the same aura as her, powerful and proper – and yet she felt as though she had known her forever, had spoken to her before. Perhaps it was that night her aunt got so drunk, she beat her to the bone; or that day her friends exposed her in a childish play; or that night she got caned for Lana. She wasn’t sure which one of those times she had spoken to her most – and wasn’t sure what all those times had in common, but it felt right.

“Hello, my dear,” spoke the woman and her voice sounded like a melody. It was smooth as honey, sweet, kind. Like a lullaby sung by a mother – and though her mother had never done anything of the sort, it felt like a distant memory of cries forgotten.

“Hullo,” she croaked, her throat dry.

“Do you know who I am?” There was a quipping tilt in her voice, as if she were talking to an old friend. They had met before; Mary Eunice now was sure. But no, she had never known her name, nor the reason she’d seen her. Was she a friend?

She felt like one.

“No,” she replied weakly. Her eyes glossed over the dark figure again, trying to memorize it better this time, in case she left again. She didn’t want to forget her.

“My name is Shachath, I am the Angel of Death,” said the kind angel, a warm smile spreading on her lips as she caressed Mary Eunice’s cheek. _She is the most beautiful angel_. “Oh, my dear Mary Eunice, you are so tired. Do you want to close your eyes?”

Yes. Mary Eunice wanted to close them. Perhaps forever. The humiliation at what Dr. Arden had done to her was ever-so-present. She felt his hands all over her body, their ghosts tracing lines in places he hadn’t even touched. His breath huffed coldly upon parts he hadn’t seen. Her legs twitched, her body retched at the constant reminders. How could she live now that he had destroyed her so?

She was a nun, a bride of God. The ring on her right hand underlined that, served as a reminder. No man or woman was ever allowed to touch her. And though of late her mind had open to thoughts unkind, there was difference between voluntary thoughts and violence.

“Do you want me to kiss the pain away, child?” Asked the kindred spirit.

 _Yes. Take it away_ , she thought, a wistful smile drawing on her lips, _I deserve it. I have done all I could for Lana, Dr. Arden will save her now – if need be. If not, Dr. Thredson has done it well. Or will soon. I deserve to die now. Before I succumb into sin_.

But the thought of Lana halted her, worried her. What if this wasn’t all over? What if Lana still needed her? Could she live with herself then? Of course, figuratively. Shachath, being the Angel of Death, would take any form of life from her. All that would live on would be the memory of her.

Would Lana remember her?

“If I do, will I be gone for good?” The Angel of Death nodded, tracing a line on Mary Eunice’s swollen lip. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it was split, most likely by one of the slaps. She tasted blood on her tongue, intrusive – it revolted her. Images of Dr. Arden flooded her again and she retched on the kind spirit’s hand, gasping in horror. “’M sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Mary Eunice, dear,” assured her Shachath, the vomit vanishing from her hand. The way she said her name sounded right. Not many used her given name, and she had never realized how much it mattered to her before Lana had started using it – the spirit using it now only accentuated its importance. For it made Lana akin to Holy, angelic. “I need your consent to kiss you – do you give me that?”

Consent. Dr. Arden had not thought he required it before kissing her. And his lips weren’t as nice as the angel’s would be. Their taste still lingered on hers and she wanted the angel to just kiss it away. She wouldn’t be worthy of anybody else kissing her anyway, would she? Lana wouldn’t deserve to kiss her tainted lips now. Nor anybody else.

“I-.” A lump in her throat caught the words. No. I cannot die. Do I really want to? “I’m scared.”

“You’re scared of being alone, my child,” murmured the Angel of Death. It was not a question – a statement. Shachath knew, Shachath understood and Shachath didn’t judge. Then why did she feel so sad? Why did the statement hurt so much?

All her life, until Sister Jude, she had been alone. And what good was Sister Jude? And then Dr. Arden. He had helped her, had been a good friend, until- until it turned out he never wanted friendship. Her only true friend was Lana and now she was going away – or perhaps was gone already – and what good was a life without Lana? It was not worth living. And yet it felt like the only thing to live for, even if it only remained as a memory.

“What time is it?” She asked, surprising herself. Her eyes closed in a sigh.

“It’s 10pm,” responded Shachath. 10 pm. She wasn’t sure why the time mattered so much. Lana was probably in her bed, now, wondering why Mary Eunice wasn’t there to play cards. But that had happened before – that she didn’t come. Except the journalist usually blamed herself, and the young nun hated herself for it.

But she was alone, now. Lana hadn’t even looked for her. Perhaps Dr. Thredson had given her an early release, for some reason. It was better this way. Lana wouldn’t see her lying in her own blood and crying.

“What if they forget me?” She whimpered softly, her eyes settling on the floor tiles underneath the Angel. It did not surprise her not to see a shade – it felt oddly right. Would the shade beneath her disappear as well, if she died? Would her spirit cast no shade and roam around the world freely, no longer tied to the ground like humans? “Will they forget me, kind spirit?”

The woman sat beside her, laying a hand on Mary Eunice’s sprawled arm. “I do not know that. It’s not my place to know. I only take life – what comes after is not my business.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder. “But I don’t think you’re alone, my dear. Listen closely. Do you hear that?”

It was the sound of footsteps. Someone coming to the office quickly, the pace quickening as they got nearer. The floor-tiles trembled beneath the feet that seized only with a gasp.

“Sister!” A familiar voice tore her out of her conversation from the Angel and when she looked back, Shachath wasn’t there anymore. She groaned in disappointment. Her lips yearned for that last, sealing kiss. “Sister, are you alright?”

Her blue, glassy eyes glossed over the nun that hovered above her. It was Sister Jude. Of course it was Sister Jude.

Mary Eunice didn’t want the older nun to see her like this, so wretched. Despite having been seen in worse situations, the sin of impurity was what weighed upon her heart the most right now. He hadn’t done it fully – she knew he hadn’t, though she knew close to nothing – but he had done enough to taint her soul forever. Was she doomed for Hell now? Would Hell swallow her and burn her frail body?

The older, authoritative nun knelt beside her and flattened her on her back to look straight into her eyes. It was oddly comforting, like looking into the eyes of a mother – but also humiliating. A mother was never supposed to see a daughter like this.

“N-no,” Mary Eunice whimpered. “I am- I don’t deserve to be- a nun.”

The woman grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her with a frustrated look on her face. “Oh, shut up, child. What happened to you? You look as if someone has robbed you of your entire identity and sold it on the black market.” Mary Eunice whined, looking away. There was no disappointment in the woman’s voice, but the pity she held within was humiliating enough. It tugged at her heart like a string. Could Sister Jude stop looking at her? “Speak, Sister.”

Mary Eunice wriggled in her grasp. It reminded her of Dr. Arden too much. “I-.” A sob interrupted her and she gagged. Nausea overcame her along with a new flood of tears – so overwhelming she felt like throwing upon on the older nun’s black habit. But a hand held her back from doing it and instead smoothed her back soothingly.

A button clicked in her mind and she realized it was Sister Jude tracing circles on her back with her hand. It was good. Lana did that to her, sometimes. Could Lana come to her now?

But unlike Lana, Sister Jude didn’t ask for her permission to help her up, didn’t ask permission for mostly anything. Even the protective embrace came without Mary Eunice’s consent and though she did not hate it, the mere idea of contact made a bile churn in her stomach and rise to her throat.

She wasn’t sure when she ended up being carried by Sister Jude to the older nun’s headquarters, her bed, wasn’t even sure when Pepper had joined them nor when the light from the windows started to peak in, but she knew that suddenly she was awake – and yet hadn’t rested – and she needed to drink and her mind was a fuzz of thoughts of Lana. Why wasn’t Lana here? Didn’t Sister Jude know Mary Eunice wanted the journalist with her? Hadn’t she spoken of the woman at least once?

It felt as though she had uttered that name more than once. Perhaps a thousand times and one more. Like a prayer.  
God had abandoned her anyway, left her to her fate. There was no God when Dr. Arden abused her – but neither was there Lana. And yet one felt more palpable than the other, one felt more real, more trustworthy.

“Wadeh,” croaked Mary Eunice, her eyes searching for anybody nearby. Pepper was asleep on a chair near the window and Sister Jude was working on some papers, but when she heard the young nun, she stood up and came over to her, her hand smacking Pepper and waking her up effectively as well.

“Fetch her some water, Pepper,” hissed the authoritative nun, her voice strong and fearful. From up close, she emanated power and control, but there was a kind light in her eyes as she smoothed Mary Eunice’s hair. She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “You passed out quite a few times, Sister. How long had it been since you had eaten?”

The young nun hadn’t thought of it – eating was a rare occurrence for her, even when she was alright. But now that the idea crossed over her mind, she realized she hadn’t in what? Two days? Maybe more.

“I cannot recall,” she replied groggily, her throat still dry.

“Of course.” Sister Jude tsked, shaking her head reprehensively. “I suppose the loss of blood and the lack of food made you pass out, then. It appears the Devil’s moon blood has touched you without an announcement,” now that she thought of it, Mary Eunice could feel the cotton in her underwear, one the older nun must have put while she was knocked out. “Was it time for it, Sister?”

Mary Eunice paused, staring at the wall blankly. Quite frankly, she could not remember. There was a certain irony to the fact that the moon blood had come over her during an act as impure as what Dr. Arden was doing – it made her feel protected, by God. For if the blood hadn’t appeared – would he have stopped?

“Here. Pepper, bring some food as well.” A cold glass of water was pushed against her lips and she propped herself on her arm to help herself to drink it. It was bitter, the water. As though filled with all her sins and regrets. If water could judge, if water was God – then this water tasted like judgment itself.

Gulping the water down too quickly, a drop ended in the wrong place and she coughed, spilling the rest through her nose and lips and onto Sister Jude’s hand. Fear crossed over her eyes and she glanced over the woman as if awaiting a punishment. But despite the grimace coloring the older woman’s features, she held no judgment.

What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she angry? Why wasn’t she screaming?

When the older Sister made sure that Mary Eunice had relaxed enough and had drunk as much as she needed, she laid a hand on her thigh and sighed. “Now, Sister, can you tell me what happened?”

Lana usually asked this question. Sister Jude always already knew everything, and Lana asked.

“Where is Lana?” She asked back, her eyes skimming over the room in hope of finding the journalist hidden behind a chair or under a desk. Perhaps under the bed? She swerved to the right on instinct, her hand grabbing on the bed and it took Sister Jude’s hands on her shoulders to bring her back up.

“It appears that Miss Lana Banana has abandoned the institution somehow,” seethed the older nun, a darker look now crossing her face. Mary Eunice widened her eyes, gasping. That was incredible, impossible – it couldn’t be. Lana would have told her about it, if she had left. She would have called. Or tried to find her before going. Unless Mary Eunice had misunderstood their friendship.

 _But I love her_ , she thought as tears brimmed at the bridges of her eyelids. _And she loves Wendy._

Her heart squeezed in her chest, spreading a burning pain through her entire body – and yet she felt relieved. A soft smile painted its way into her lips, not quite reaching her eyes but ever-so-present.

Lana had gotten out. Lana was free. Who cared if she hadn’t disclosed that to her? It was her moment, her freedom. Mary Eunice had no right to intrude nor make it about herself. Lana must have had a reason not to share it with her. And sure, the young nun would have loved to see the joy on the journalist’s face, would have loved to kiss her knuckles, her cheeks – but it was alright like this as well.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that,” offered the older nun slowly, “would you?”

Mary Eunice scoffed, surprising herself. “Lord only knows how much I wish I knew. But I was quite... unmoving.”

Something twisted in Sister Jude’s eyes, worrisome. She squeezed Mary Eunice’s arm and trailed a pattern along to her shoulder, quivering. Was she scared? “What happened, Sister? Dr. Arden hasn’t been returning my calls and I found you in his office covered in blood, piss, vomit and Lord knows what else. You must tell me what happened.” The insistence in her tone made the young nun shiver. “I will not judge.”

That was a lie. Sister Jude always judged. _Except now. She’s not judging me now_.

“Oh, Sister,” Mary Eunice’s voice broke into a sob and she latched onto the woman in a desperate cry. “He tried to rape me, Sister. I am so sorry. I am unworthy of my cloth, my habit. I only wanted to help Miss Winters – I didn’t think he would- I-.”

“Shh,” the older woman murmured sternly, smoothing Mary Eunice’s hair. She straightened the younger woman and held her at arm’s length. “He raped you – or almost. As we did not exclude Sister Chastity for her little escapade with the Santa Killer, we would not exclude you either.”

“But Sister Chastity got the worthy punishment,” Mary Eunice protested. She wasn’t eager to be punished now, her insides twisting at the thought of yet another caning for something that was punishment enough. Hadn’t she suffered enough? _Oh, stupid Mary Eunice! The Lord must always punish you if you misbehave – there’s no enough_. “Will I be punished too, Sister? I didn’t want this. I swear, I didn’t ask for this.”

The older woman shook her head. “I know. Dr. Arden is a vile man anyway – I have actually found some incriminating evidence against him... but tell me more, Sister. Why did you want to help Miss Lana Banana?” The question was stupid – Mary Eunice was well aware that the other woman knew all the reasons, probably kept a diary of all the time she had caught the two sneaking glances, but the words needed to be said out loud.

“It’s because of Dr. Thredson,” retorted Mary Eunice softly, her voice as small as possible. The man had genuinely saved Lana now – how could she mistrust him?

And yet this response confused Sister Jude, clearly, judging by the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “What about him?”

Mary Eunice averted her gaze, a tear grazing her cheek traitorously. “I feel like he’s not the man he says he is. There is something off, something wrong. And he promised to free Lana – and I had asked Dr. Arden to investigate on him, but then Dr. Arden got angry and- well, he did what he did.” She worried her bottom lip, tightening her hold on the white sheets. “He stopped. I praise the Lord for that, that he did. He promised he would check on Dr. Thredson. Why isn’t he back yet?”

“You got hurt? Why were you hurt? Is Lana Banana okay?” Asked Pepper, her face suddenly appearing before Mary Eunice’s and the young nun smiled brightly, tears welling up in her eyes. She grabbed the woman’s hands and squeezed them, noticing a loaf of bread in them. Her eyes skipped from the loaf to Pepper then to Sister Jude and when the latter nodded, she took it with a soft ‘thank you’.

“I am alright, Pepper, I am,” she whispered. Her heart squeezed at the worried expression on Pepper’s face and she cleared a tear from the woman’s cheek. “And Lana Banana is just fine, too.” The last sentence escaped her lips hastily, followed by a stream of tears and a sob. Lana had to be fine. Otherwise what would be the point?

But anxiety was spiking now, its nerves like string tugging on a puppet, jumping up and down.

There was something wrong, she could feel it. Deep in her stomach, a bile turned and couldn’t stop turning. It was like a silent reminder that Lana was never safe, not really. As a homosexual in everyday society, she was always unhappy, always unsafe. And Dr. Thredson could try to “cure” it, but Mary Eunice knew it was faulty. Was that why she mistrusted him? Because he didn’t accept her as she was?

No. It was more. There was something underneath that was clawing its way out of the grave and Mary Eunice was afraid of the day the skeleton would be out. Would she run away screaming from him, then?

“Pepper, leave Sister Mary Eunice and I for a minute, please,” ordered the older nun and Mary Eunice watched sadly the defeated woman leave slowly, the freak’s eyes landing upon the young nun in a silent plea. Mary Eunice smiled weakly, but her gaze returned to Sister Jude’s quickly. As soon as the door locked, the older nun sighed and stood up. “I am going to entrust you with something I found out rather recently – something that makes me very, very uncomfortable.”

Oh, that couldn’t be good. “What is it?”

“Dr. Arden is a Nazi, Sister.”

What? No, she couldn’t have trusted a Nazi for so long, could she? Except she could. Because she was naïve, stupid, innocent and blind. A Nazi.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you didn’t see that. With your daddy issues, you would have trusted any older man who laid eyes upon you,” scoffed the older nun. “And Dr. Thredson, well, I wouldn’t trust him, either. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had skeletons in his closet, too.” Mary Eunice gulped expectantly. “With Dr. Arden being a Nazi, I wouldn’t exclude the possibility that he might have done something to your precious friend – perhaps even kidnapped her from Dr. Thredson’s grasp before Dr. Thredson could lay his own filthy, shrink hands on her.”

No. This couldn’t be. Mary Eunice had no idea what to say. And Sister Jude pacing around the room was not helping at all, agitating her. She needed to see to be certain of what the woman was saying, needed visual verification. Because Sister Jude couldn’t be right. Nobody could have kidnapped Lana – Lana was too smart for that.

She was kidnapped here, an intrusive thought stabbed her. But I had been there, replied another voice. It had been my fault that she got stuck here. I wasn’t with her there.

“I don’t want to alarm you, though,” quipped the older nun, a cocky smirk on her lips.

“I-,” began Mary Eunice, her eyes skimming over the room in search for comfort, but there was none. “I think I need to check for myself.”

  
  
\--

  
  
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Asked Mary Eunice worriedly, fidgeting in her seat. The seatbelt dug into her neck uncomfortably and the material beneath her thighs was rough. The older nun had not turned on any heating in the car allowing huffs and puffs of fresh air to condense in the atmosphere. A childish part of her wanted to take a pencil and pretend she was smoking a cigarette, but she held herself back.

They were in a parking lot just like any other: small buildings lay in the suburban area of New York with large sidewalks nearby them, the bits of grass prickling the setting with a greenish color and the yellow and red leaves from the trees covered them like capes. Kids probably had a field trip jumping on those – but not now. Now, the place was nearly empty with only a few people passing by, rushing to their homes for lunch.

It was the ideal time for two nuns to walk over to a homosexual’s house – and Mary Eunice had no doubt that many in the area were aware or at least suspected it.

“Have I ever been wrong, Sister?” Sister Jude sighed, an eyebrow raising challengingly. Her hand released the steering wheel and she grabbed her rosary. Mary Eunice followed the actions curiously, shaking her head thereafter, realizing the woman would want a response.

She worried her bottom lip. “No. But I just-.” She bit her tongue in time. Being so near Lana’s house just made her uncomfortable. There was a strange aura around it, one that the young nun could not begin to understand. It was almost as though Satan himself had lain his hands upon it and kissed it – and not for the reasons most might think, but rather for the crime that might have occurred – the kidnapping of Wendy and perhaps even Lana’s.

Mary Eunice wasn’t sure how she’d live her life if Lana died – or if anything happened to her in general, just because Mary Eunice hadn’t been good enough, brave enough, smart enough to save her. Because if Lana was in danger and Mary Eunice could have prevented it, then this world was no longer a place she wanted to reside in.

“I know where she lives. I came over to her house once,” snapped Sister Jude. “Now calm down and count your beads.”  
Mary Eunice followed through, starting with Apostles’ Creed, Our Father, three Hail Mary’s, Glory Be followed by Saturday’s Joyful Mysteries. They were memorized in her mind like in archives and she could repeat them much quicker than most faithful servants of the Lord.

Anytime she repeated her prayers to the Virgin Mary, her heart squeezed. It was one of her favorite things, praying to her namesake, for she was graceful and loved all and her kindness and openness towards the mission that God had given her often gave her strength in times of need. It was no surprise, after all, that she based most of her actions on the sole principle of following the Virgin Mary – many people mocked her for it.

Lana had once joked about her name. ‘Your parents must have really wanted you to be a nun, huh?’ She had said, in her quipping tone. A smile had crinkled on her face. Mary Eunice thought of the memory fondly. It had been one of the few calm moments between her and Lana, just enjoying their company. Even though Lana had mocked her, in a way, the way she said it could never sound wrong to the young nun, not when there was so much hidden affection in Lana’s voice anytime she merely greeted her.

Mary Eunice was not perceptive, not really, having had blind faith in people who did not deserve it, but she knew Lana cared about her, in some way. They were friends, after all.

She had already finished and repeated it another time when Sister Jude shook her arm with an annoyed look on her face. “Alright, are you done?”

“Yes,” she replied hastily, unfastening her seatbelt and opening the door. The fresh air hit her in the face like a slap and it echoed the memory of Dr. Arden’s hand in her mind. She squeezed her rosary and ignored the sharp and sudden spike of memories she could not contain. It was neither the place nor the time to cry and so she swallowed down the tears and braved the storm, her feet dragging her to the porch in a matter of seconds as if she were floating.

Once again, she had forgotten to bring any sort of coverage for the cold, her hands turning red immediately. She smiled weakly at the other woman who, unlike her, wore a scarf, mittens and earmuffs which looked oddly unsettling on the old nun, but they provided enough heat for her not to complain. Not that Mary Eunice would ever complain out loud. All her pains, she kept them inside. Sister Jude didn’t like complainers.

The door was simple, brown, unnoticeable, but it was Lana’s and therefore it made Mary Eunice’s heart skip a beat.  
Sister Jude didn’t wait for her approval before she knocked on the door three times. An empty sound was overheard, but nothing beyond that. Birds chirped along to the beats of their hearts, happy and unaware of the turmoil within Mary Eunice.

They waited a few seconds; Sister Jude knocked – and then Mary Eunice bolted against the door and knocked again. Her knuckles hit the surface loud and hard, bruising, but she did not care. There was something off about the woman not answering, because she ought to be home, for lunch, with Wendy. And Mary Eunice could not live with herself nor with the idea of it being otherwise. Lana had escaped the sanitarium for freedom, for her life with Wendy – why wasn’t she in it?

A strong hand grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her back. “Stop this nonsense, Sister,” scolded her Sister Jude, her voice sharp and accusing. A few birds left the scene and Mary Eunice wanted to fly away with them. “She’s not home – not that I am the least surprised. She escaped a bloody mental institution. Anyone with some sense would fly off their records and leave the country before officials catch them again.” The older nun paused and glanced at the young one pointedly. “Mark my words. She’s gone.”

Mary Eunice whined silently, pouting her lips, her cold hands grabbing at the fabric of her habit and squeezing it angrily. “No.”

“No?” The stern woman snapped, her eyes glossing over the younger nun’s frail and trembling body. “Oh, for crying out loud.” She sighed, her hand hovering over the door again in a silent question. When it came down, Mary Eunice held her breath in anticipation, the spell only broken by her clattering teeth.

There was no answer again.

The older nun shook her head in exasperation. Mary Eunice yelped lightly when the woman pushed her away and turned over the handle in frustration.

It gave away.

The door opened with no further ado, the musty smell of an untouched place mingled with a strongly intrusive breezy wind invaded her senses despite the runny nose. As Mary Eunice’s eyes skimmed over the entrance, she noticed mold on the walls, right underneath a spider web. From across the room she noticed an open window, the latter being the source of the breeze.

Clatter, chaos, emptiness reigned in the house, its décor so befitting of the Lana whom Mary Eunice had barely known and yet had had the pleasure to see that she backhanded herself for having mistrusted the woman’s tastes. It was simple, a bit antique with the brown, wooden furniture and the green and red colors ruling over any other. Her eyes flicked over to a stack of papers left on the floor, some of the pages blown away by the wind and attached to the couch.

Across the furniture and on a shelf, Mary Eunice noticed photos. She shushed the voice that screamed to her, accusing her of coveting a neighbor’s belongings as she walked over to them and took one in her hands. With her free hand, she smeared the dust away and promptly sneezed, apologizing to no one in particular.

The photo did not hold a great quality to it, rather smudged and taken hastily, probably in a place covered by too much shade to fully capture the light radiating off the woman in the picture. With brown hair and a large smile that could clear the skies of all the clouds, a piece of paper in her hand and a thumb up, Lana had never looked happier. Perhaps only a few days ago, when Mary Eunice had taken her outside, but it was different: she looked free, peaceful, proud of herself for having accomplished something; she did not wear tear-stained clothes from Briarcliff, but rather elegant, green and brown proper attire with heels so high she would probably be taller than Mary Eunice.

She was gorgeous.

A tear dropped on the photo and Mary Eunice sniffed ashamedly, putting it away. With the back of her hand, she tried to clear the tear away, but they just kept going. She missed Lana but above all, she regretted having taken this life from her.

Before she could slap herself for it, she grabbed another picture, one of Lana with a smaller brunette, their arms draped over each other comfortably and sincere smiles drawn on their faces. She smudged the dust away from Lana’s face – and then cleared all the dust away, as her mind chastised her for trying to ruin a personal photo.

She held her hands to herself thereafter.

There were many photos around the place, some of only Wendy, some of Lana – and though neither was professionally taken and some were even in black and white, Mary Eunice cherished each and one of them. How warm life had to be, before Briarcliff took it all away!

“Stop staring at all these photos, Sister,” chastised Sister Jude, her frame coming into Mary Eunice's view and distracting her. “Let’s search around the house for, say, clues, if you will. I don’t have all day to waste on your feelings.” And yet you’re here, with me, helping me, thought Mary Eunice, eyeing the older woman with reverence.

The sitting room was connected to the entrance by a door-like arch as it was also to the kitchen, the rooms looking like one if not for the doorframes. There were many lamps, Mary Eunice noticed, but they were off now. All yellowish and greenish, set up on the tables and nearby them like silent protectors. For when they would have to close the blinds, even during the day, to live their private life. It tugged at her heart more than it should, the thought of Lana having to hide who she was.

The white walls were prickled with mold stains and raindrops and the carpet before them was full of dry mud.

Mud?

The thought halted Mary Eunice. Now that she noticed it, she couldn’t help but notice more stains around the house. A chilling wind creeped into her heart and swept her breath away. She grabbed the older nun for stability, her fingers digging into the rough material of Sister Jude’s habit while her other hand pointed at a large mud stain near the window.

“I think s-someone came in here th-through the win-window,” she stuttered, her eyes wide and pleading – but pleading for what? Salvation? Explanation? Her heart thumped against her ribcage and her mouth felt dry.

Sister Jude swatted her hand away and shook her head with a deep sigh. “Stay here, I will check the bedroom.”

 _No! Don’t leave me alone_! She wanted to scream. Swept over by fear and commotion, she draped an arm around herself in a protective hug and watched the room around her warily. Her breath now came in short huffs, the steam flying into the air and distracting her if only for a second. Eyes roamed around the room seeking solace in the eerie air.

It felt as though someone had halted everything, trapping the particles in that one, frozen moment of anxiety and nausea. Everything was unmoving, stale. Not even the papers on the floor trembled nor did the wind flicker her coif. She paced in one place with a loud sigh, her eyes skipping from one place to another in agitation.

If Lana were here with her now, she’d tell her to calm down, that everything did move, but that it was quite alright to think it wasn’t. Lana always knew what to say. It always surprised Mary Eunice as much as the first time.

A sudden clattering sound startled her out of her musings, making her jump. She yelped, skipping away from her spot and away from the source of the clatter, which seemed to be the bedroom.

Sister Jude!

Without thinking twice, she ran towards the bedroom, her legs feeling like jelly underneath her weight.

The first thing she saw as she crossed the door was the sprawled body of her mentor on the floor, bareback, her arms open almost in prayer, wide, like a priest. Her coif had fallen off and her revealed hair was tainted by blood.

The sight of two women hovering near the fallen woman sucked the air out of Mary Eunice’s lungs, knocking her off her pace and prompting her against the doorframe, onto which she held tightly; her pads turned white.

She recognized them of course, but did they recognize her? In the haze of the previous events, they could have easily forgotten her face, after all.

Mary Eunice glanced at them warily, offering a frightened smile. “Miss Bertrand, Shelley,” she gulped, her mind failing to process a decent enough excuse for her presence there, expect for ‘I love Lana! And also, I am scared!’ which seemed rather weak. Her mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape, gaping like a fish gasping for air.

Miss Bertrand, whose hands were occupied with a large lamp, nodded towards the nun. “It’s Sister Virgin Mary. Do we knock her out?”

Shelley shrugged, eyeing the young nun rather curiously. Her eyes were wide and there was worry written in them. Unlike her companion, she was not as determined to hit anyone, really, but she was also ready to fight – Mary Eunice had seen that during the storm. And she admired it.

But not right now.

“She came with Sister Jude,” mumbled Shelley, her foot carefully shaking the knocked out nun. “Might alert someone if we don’t knock her out.”

Miss Bertrand bobbed her head in agreement, her gaze flicking to the paralyzed nun. “Is there anyone else with you?”

She wanted to lie and say yes, that were plenty of people ready to attack the two former patients if they did anything to her, but her entire body was quaking and her eyes were watering, so she opted for the truth. After all, she had no ill business in this house – if anything, the two women were at fault here. “No. I came here only with Sister Jude.”

The young brunette snorted, her chest shaking along with her hands, knocking the lamp against Shelley. An odd look flashed through her face, as if she recalled an event. “Well, you did help us during the storm,” she noticed, freeing a hand to wave it pointedly. Shelley nodded along, now a few inches apart from the other woman lest the lamp hit her again. “Why are you here? How did you find us?”

Find you?

Mary Eunice furrowed her brows, her eyes skipping from one woman to the other in an attempt to see if they were joking, but their expressions were serious, set straight upon her own frightened one.

“I was not here to find you,” she finally said, then kicked herself for having forgotten to include Sister Jude. “We were not here to find you.” Eyeing her mentor pleadingly, she said the next words very carefully, “I need to see if she’s okay, she’s helping me. M-may I please check?”

Miss Bertrand rolled her eyes, grimacing menacingly. The lamp was still in her hand and it hovered in the air like a possible murder weapon. If Mary Eunice moved, she knew it could easily knock her out and there’d be nobody else to save her, not here.

And yet she stood there bravely, persevering. She needed the two women to realize that she was to be trusted, but that they also needed to earn her trust somehow. So they could come to an agreement as to why either of them was here in the first place, given that neither lived in this house.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, yes,” exhaled Shelley, rolling her eyes. “I hate Sister Jude more than anybody,” her fingers traced the shaved bit of her head pointedly, “but Miss Eternal Virginity has helped us.”

Mary Eunice didn’t budge, eyeing Miss Bertrand for approval as well. It was clear that between the two the young brunette had the high ground, mostly considered the weapon. She eyed it with a lip worried between her teeth and nodded her head towards it.

The brown-haired woman groaned and slowly lowered the lamp. “I won’t hesitate to use it if you make a sudden move, though, Sister. I don’t really understand where your loyalties lie and that’s never good.”

Mary Eunice slowly dropped to the floor, her knees hitting the surface with a loud bump that hitched her breath. Turning the older nun around, a hand under the nun’s head, she grimaced at the sight of a bruise tinging its colors on the pale, old cheeks. She traced it with her fingers, lightly, trying to elicit a reaction, to see if the woman was anyhow responsive – someone had once told her it was the best way to see if there was any serious damage.

“Sister Jude?” She whispered softly, her free hand smoothing some of the hair out of the woman’s face. “Can you hear me? I’m so sorry.” The last sentence trailed off in a whimper as a few burning tears welled up in her eyes. It felt as though anywhere she went, people got hurt for it.

Is this my legacy? Hurting everyone I care about?

A lump formed in her throat and she attempted to swallow it down without avail. The older woman looked almost dead, with her eyes closed and a peaceful expression on her face.

“You still actually haven’t answered my question,” Miss Bertrand pointed out, crouching next to her and eyeing the older nun pitifully, a glint of mockery in her eyes that made a bile churn in Mary Eunice’s stomach. It was unsettling. “How did you find us?” When Mary Eunice opened her mouth to protest, the young brunette waved her off, “Alright, why are you here, if not to find us?”

The young nun sighed, her hands stroking Sister Jude’s face in an attempt to find comfort. Oh, the woman would have known what to say. Angrily, perhaps, but would have.

“We’re-.”

Suddenly, the woman between her arms stirred and groaned and Mary Eunice nearly pushed her away in commotion, her heart jumping into her throat and blocking the sentence she had wanted to utter. Blue eyes opened slowly, blinking repeatedly, and stared at her own blue eyes in confusion, still glossy from the knock-out. Then, they cleared and the older woman slapped her hands away with a shriek, sitting up against the frame of the bed.

The old nun painted an interesting image with her hair messy, her bloodshot eyes wide, her mouth agape, her hands before her face in a protective stance over her bloodstained habit; she trembled a little, but above all, she was angry.

The fury radiating off her made the three women take a step back.

“Sister Mary Eunice,” hissed Sister Jude, cocking her head to the side angrily, her nostrils flaring threateningly. “Stand by my side! Or did you plan all of this?”

“No!” The young nun exclaimed, jumping towards the older woman and wrapping her hands around her elbow in an attempt to appease her. “No, oh, Sister, never,” she wept, chin wobbling as she worried her bottom lip. “You know I would never, no. I’m so sorry, I should have gone with you!”

Can you please just fucking tell us why you’re here?” Insisted the brunette who had somehow gotten back the lamp and was now pointing it threateningly at the nuns, warding them off. Not that Mary Eunice needed any reason not to stand up, her legs too weak either way, feeling as though someone had wrapped them in a tight cover and left her unstable.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Sister Jude cocked her eyebrow pointedly, slowly raising herself from the floor to sit on the bed, dragging the poor, younger nun with her. _Oh, this is soft_ , thought Mary Eunice, her attention immediately switching back to the situation at hand when the older nun started talking, “I don’t like getting hit in the head, you see, and definitely not by scrawny patients that should be in the hospital anyway.”

“Your nun-,” Miss Bertrand began but Shelley elbowed her in the stomach with a scared smile on her youthful face.  
“Sister Mary Eunice tried to stop us, but we were stronger,” she seethed, her wide eyes skimming from one nun to the other, averting the young murderer’s gaze very strongly. Never before had Mary Eunice trusted the nymphomaniac more, mostly blinded by Dr. Arden’s – and Sister Jude’s – opinion of the young woman.

She had been wilfully blind for a very long time, but thanks to Lana she was opening her eyes and what she saw was beautiful. The nymphomaniac before her, for one, was truly a sight, even if frightened to the last fiber in herself, torn between two very powerful forces, one that wanted to go against Miss Bertrand and just get out of this complicated situation and another that hated Sister Jude so strongly, Mary Eunice could see Shelley clenching her fists.

“Why are you in this specific house, though?”

Shelley shifted on her legs and eyed the women, her bottom lip worried between her teeth.

“Alright,” sighed Shelley, but Miss Bertrand interceded simultaneously, by saying, “We were looking for a place to stay after we got separated from Kit and it took us more than a week to find one. But then we saw an open window,” she waved at the open corridor where the wind blew restlessly, “and Shelley here was all soaked and wet-.”

“And not in the good meaning of the words,” she winked, smiling feistily at Sister Jude’s growl.

“Yes, not in the good way,” sighed Miss Bertrand, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips, her eyes twinkling slightly at her friend. “Anyway, we just saw this open window, entered this house and saw the photos and realized we were in Lana’s house-.”

“And I thought ‘damn, that’s lucky’ and that’s how we’ve been using their fridge for the past hours,” finished Shelley.

Mary Eunice tilted her head to a side, furrowing her brows, her eyes slightly closed as she tried to process the story.

It was messy – as Sister Jude promptly said, too. It didn’t make much sense that they managed to survive so long without a place to sleep in without getting ill – the chances of getting pneumonia after the storm had been very high and yet the duo had escaped it quite easily.

Apart from the runny nose that they both seemed to exhibit and their red cheeks, neither sneezed nor coughed and it was as though they had been barely touched. She supposed, however, that perhaps they had been exposed to such weathers before, in their hometowns or wherever else, but even that seemed to be an unlikely reason.

Praise the Lord, she thought meekly, her eyes widening at the realization. Of course! God had guided them towards salvation and though Mary Eunice did not like the fact that they had knocked out her mentor, she was in no place to disrespect God’s wishes.

“Have you seen Lana at all?” Intruded Mary Eunice out of the blue, biting the inside of her cheek thereafter in embarrassment, for she had seemingly interrupted them. They had spaced out looks on their faces, eyeing her curiously as if she had pointed a cross at them yelling bloody murder. She dug a nail into her palm and exhaled lightly. “I mean- you’re in her house- has she come over?”

“We were talking, Sister,” hissed Sister Jude, “bargaining, if you will. What have you told you about not interrupting me?”

“That I shouldn’t do it,” replied the young nun weakly, tears welling up in her eyes. “But Lana-.”

“I was getting to her,” snapped the authoritative blonde, “if you had let me.”

The brunette coughed loudly and pointedly, effectively shutting up the old nun, who eyed her angrily, puckering her lips. “Lana? You were looking for Lana, then? She managed to escape?”

“When?” Added Shelley, taking a step forward to the two nuns, only to retreat under Sister Jude’s menacing gaze. She glared back, flaring her nostrils. “Can we knock her out and talk only to Sister Innocence?” Her head tilted to her friend with a slight smirk on her lips, “I like her more.”

Miss Bertrand shrugged. “She already knows though. Nah. Just answer my questions, Sister.”

Mary Eunice halted for a second, breathing in deeply. Squeezing Sister Jude’s elbow to distract her, she smiled slightly and nodded, a lone tear escaping her eyes hastily for no specific reason. “Yes, um, we’re looking for Lana,” she informed them slowly, letting images of the older woman flash before her eyes and prompt her into further action. “She didn’t escape immediately, only- yesterday, I think? We don’t know and I’m worried.” She looked down, trying to stop her eyes from watering, as the visions of the other women blurred before her eyes. “Sister Jude thinks she’s not in danger-.”

“Because she’s not! She probably escaped to Mexico by now or something,” scoffed the older nun, untangling herself from Mary Eunice’s grasp.

“Perhaps so,” admitted Mary Eunice, “But there is a last person she spoke to, I suppose.”

“Who?” Miss Bertrand asked the question warily, her voice wavering. She hopes it’s Kit, of course. Somehow, the ideas of Kit and Dr. Thredson overlapped in her mind, for whatever reason. It made no sense, of course, but it made a tingling feeling of fear crawl onto her back and into her heart, searing itself with a quaking kiss of anxiety.

“Dr. Thredson. She- she wanted to escape with him, at the end of the week and I suppose she did.” Tears now flooding her face like a waterfall, she averted the women’s gazes and looked down at her lap, at the cross of the rosary. It brought her some solace, to think of God and of Him protecting Lana in this moment, but what if God wasn’t enough?

What if Lana was hurt?

After Dr. Arden, Mary Eunice could not trust men with anything. They were vile, cruel and thought of only one thing.  
A bile turned in her stomach at the thoughts that rammed into her head and she shook them away, swatting them like flies. Unwanted, filthy, dreadful. Wrong. Impossible. And above all, heartbreaking. Mary Eunice would sooner die than let anything happen to Lana and it was not a surprise to her anymore.

“You want us to help you find out if she’s with him?” Asked Shelley and waited for Mary Eunice to bob her head in agreement before adding, “If you drop Sister Jude, we’re helping you.”

“Oh, I will join,” snapped the old nun. “I have to watch out for her. She’s helpless – she’ll be found dead in a ditch if I’m not there.”

An angry fire went from her heart and into her stomach and she clenched her fists tightly, trying to soothe the flames. She did not like being spoken of in the third person, but if it helped Lana – Sister Jude could join.  


  
\--  


  
Lana woke up to a bright light blinding her and creeping into her mind even after she closed her eyelids. It was intrusive, almost as if it was trying to harm her – and it did. A searing pain cut through her head, a quick and unexpected headache that manifested itself physically in a bruise over her forehead raced through her head. She felt like throwing up at the sensation.

She opened her eyes again and blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her vision, white floor tiles becoming clearer before her eyes. The floor beneath her was cold and uncomfortable. She pushed herself up, propping herself on an elbow, trying to assess the situation.

Immediately, her eyes caught sight of a tied up body, one that looked way too familiar. A bile churned in her stomach and she felt like puking in a can, but there was no can nor actual vomit in her mouth. Only a bitter taste teased her tongue and she tried to swallow it down ineffectively.

It was a man – that much was clear. His back was turned to her, but even from her point of view she could notice a white hairline and a bald spot, a red tinge of dried blood trailing across his nape and onto the floor from a deep wound at the top of his head.  His clothes were clean, only a bit of dust prickled them and he was tied up from the waist down, with his arms locked on his sides by the rope.

He was definitely not awake, either – he looked cold, as if someone had put him in a freezer.

Somehow, the idea of Dr. Arden being in such a position did not light any fire within her, but rather made her feel something akin to anger. Not towards the situation, nor out of pity for the man whom she despised, but rather for herself – she deserved to be angry, because she ought never to be in a same situation as Dr. Arden who, unlike her, had actually done some evils in his life.

Lana would believe anyone if they told her he was a Nazi, even, or a sex offender. She wouldn’t light a torch out for him, that much was sure.

But why was he here, in this room with her? And why was she here?

What was this room?

She dragged on the floor, her left foot halting just as she neared the older man and she yelped. Turning around, she noticed a heavy chain on her ankle, its cold steel digging into her revealed skin and drawing blood as she tugged on it.  
Tears dampened her eyes and she swallowed them back, eyeing the unconscious man curiously. She put a hand under his saggy throat, her hand feeling odd against the rough skin – and she felt it. Not at first, not immediately, but it was there, the ghost of a heartbeat. Despite the cold appearance and the wound, the man was alive.

The sound of footsteps tickled an interest in her and she looked up to the sight of yet another man in a suit, this one, however, in a less desperate state. Actually, completely fine. Fine suit, a cigarette in his hand, smoke coming out of his mouth and a red smirk painted across his lips.

Dr. Thredson.

Memories flooded her mind and she gagged. Dr. Thredson was Bloody Face. He had killed all those women and who knew how many more. Did he kill Wendy, too? If he did, her body must have decomposed. Of course, she had no idea when he would have killed her, but it wouldn’t have made sense to keep her in this place for sure – unless he froze her like Dr. Arden. But Dr. Arden was alive.

Semi-alive.

“I’ve kept him fresh,” purred Dr. Thredson, walking over to her with a glint in his eyes, his frame casting a shadow that looked disproportional, longer, his spiked up hair adding horns to his shadow.

He looked like the Devil.

Lana slid backwards on instinct, her thighs grazing the surface painfully. She looked into his threatening eyes and her chin wobbled as a response, panic overtaking all her senses and freezing her between a need to run away and an inability to move at all. “W-what for?” Her brown eyes watered further at the corners, spilling two traitorous tears.

 _Stop crying, you fucking weakling_. She knew the answer to her stupid question – of course she did.

Dr. Thredson crouched in front of her, his fingers coming under Dr. Arden’s chin. Visibly satisfied, he turned the body of the man around, revealing a pale face; the old man’s mouth was half-open, ajar, like a door and his eyes were tight shut – the tiniest cloud of mist dispersing in the air.

“Well, I’ve noticed some of your activities,” drawled the psychiatrist, slowly standing up, his gaze however still fixed upon the former patient, “with that Sister. What’s her name? Maria?”

“Mary Eunice,” spat Lana without thinking twice, the name coming out strangled and tiny – but it was powerful. The young nun was powerful. With her comforting blue eyes, her affectionate touch, her soft features – the way even the black habit could hug her delicate frame without tainting her with a dark aura was one of the Seven Wonders.

The mere idea of the nun warmed her insides, gave her solace in the terrible situation.

“Yes. Mary Eunice,” sighed the man, “you like her, don’t you?” His heeled shoe kicked Dr. Arden’s head slightly, as to move him. “He likes her, too, do you know that?”

Lana stared at him blankly, her eyes unblinking.

She knew that very well – that Dr. Arden liked Mary Eunice. She did not like the notion of her affection being at the same level of Dr. Arden’s however. Although as the image of the pure nun painted in her mind and smiled at her, white teeth brightening the whole sky, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she wasn’t worse, for she had, somehow, managed to taint the young nun in return as well.

It was wrong to consider, the thought of the young Sister having been touched by Sappho and reborn with a fiery passion for women – it was also impossible, and inconsiderable. Despite her naivety, Mary Eunice would never fall for a woman, let alone Lana.

And above all, Lana did not like her either. No, they were friends and if Lana’s heartbeat sped up too fast at the woman’s touch or if she yearned to do more than kiss her soft cheeks; if she wanted to hold the innocent nun between her arms, cradle her head and offer her warmth – that was her sole business and not wrong at all.

Nothing Dr. Arden thought could ever compare to her own feelings.

An unsettling feeling of anxiety settled in the lower of her stomach, accusing her for her lies, but she ignored it, answered Dr. Thredson’s question instead, her eyes laying upon the man’s with an accusatory light written across them.

“I do know that. Of his feelings – that he harbors them for her.” She gulped, feeling uneasy to be talking in the third person about a man lying unconscious just a few feet before her. _And he has no right to mention her, to use her against me. What if she’ll be his next victim_?

That gave her a pause, hitching her breath and making her gasp for air. She averted his gaze, staring at a white curtain before her, almost transparent, covering the stairs. And then her eyes skimmed to a shelf full of utensils. It was a room of torture, perhaps, or of pleasure – for him. Anyone could look at it differently, but Lana would have rather looked at it never.

“You’re trying to deny your own attraction to her,” murmured the man, his frame walking away from her in a daze as he reached the counter. She eyed the actions in silence, curious, afraid to ruin his show and earn some sort of punishment – she was due with punishment. God owed her a moment of peace, for all the hellfire she’d burned in.

The sky and Mary Eunice’s eyes merged into one as she tried to think of the young nun instead of the terrible place, her visage being like a rope of salvation, a lifeline thrown into the water during a storm.

“Look her in the eyes,” Dr. Thredson’s voice cut through her thoughts like a sharp knife, so very close to her she gasped when she felt his breath ghosting over her face, “and tell me you don’t want to fuck her.”

His hand held a photograph of the young nun between two fingers: it was a hazy photo, taken probably from a corner, the young nun caught in the film forever in the process of undressing herself for the night; with no coif over her hair, her blonde hair cascaded over the shoulder looking almost like a halo; her eyes were tight shut while her mouth was slightly open, as if he had photographed her during a yawn that one of her arms was trying to stifle – the last action made her standard, white gown hike up revealing milky skin of her thighs, uncovered by any layers of clothing.

Despite the beauty of the subject and her hitched breath, Lana felt like throwing up. It was intimate, personal, taken without consent – wrong.

She averted her gaze, ignoring the pulsing feeling between her thighs. Trust my clit to always choose the best fucking moment, she gritted in her head. With a shaky hand, she covered the photo.

A snot pooled beneath her nose and she sniffled. “Stop, please,” she whimpered, turning ever so slightly to look into his eyes, begging to release her from this grasp he was holding her in. It was invisible if not for the chain on her leg, but as palpable as Dr. Arden’s unconscious body. “I don’t want to fuck her.”

Dr. Thredson swatted her hand, tightening a hold on her wrist. “Look at her,” he seethed, his words venomous, “and don’t lie to me. I know it when you lie. I can feel your trepidation at looking at her. You yearn her. The way you should yearn your girlfriend – Wendy – or, above all, a man.”

Lana forced herself to look at the young nun, then, ignoring the sharp stab of betrayal that she could sense on her back at the mention of Wendy. She didn’t want to think of Wendy. Not now. So she stared at Mary Eunice. From the crinkle around her eyes to the exposed skin – she looked. Did she yearn for that? It was wrong. She couldn’t. She would not admit it.

No.

“I feel nothing,” she mumbled, the taste the sentence left feeling bitter on her tongue, “but disgust. This disgusts me.”

Dr. Thredson hummed lowly, his breath vibrating beside her. “You’re lying. Tell me what you’d do to her if you could.” When she did not reply, he moved away a little, his body no longer covering her but rather opposing her from the front. His index trailed an intrusive line across Mary Eunice’s thigh and she gulped, hard, stifling an angry whine. Don’t touch her, asshole. “Consider this part of your therapy, Lana.”

Horror flushed and froze her like a bucket of cold water and she gaped. “No.”

“Lana,” he warned her, his voice vibrating on the last letter, longer, lower. Threatening. It was not something she could disobey. “Tell me what you want to do to her.”

Lana worried her bottom lip, letting her eyelids drop and her gaze focus on the picture offered for her. There were many things she wanted to do – did they really have to be sexual? “I want to-,” a retching impulse gave her a pause and she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply and slowly _. I can do it. Yes, for me_. “I want to touch that exposed s-skin. If I could, I would-,” she stopped again, pleading him to stop her, but he was now crouched on the floor and propped against his knees, comfortable and interested. “I would kiss that revealed bit. My hands would tug at her hair, feel the strands flow between my fingers.” _They’d be soft, the strands. Everything about her is so soft_. “I would put my- my fingers, down below.”

Dr. Thredson hummed, a sound akin to a groan – it made Lana wish she could strangle him with her chain. But despite the reaction, the man did not appear happy, rather angry – or a mixture of both, a complicated symphony of pleasure molded with envy. “Continue, Miss Winters. This is your therapy.”

Yes. Therapy. “She’d be wet. I know she would be,” she continued softly, her words coming out in whispers. An uncomfortable wetness pooled beneath her legs at the image she was painting and she shifted. At this point, getting a terrible drug that would make her desire all of this less would have been so much better and safer – what she was describing was forbidden, wrong and the mere action of saying all of this out loud tainted it, crossed any possibility of it ever happening positively out of her mind. Manipulative. “I would e-easily push a finger into her fuh-folds. She’d like that.”

“Stop saying how she would react,” growled the psychiatrist, a dark shadow covering his eyes like a hood.

“I would kiss her lips, part them with my tongue. Bringing her over the edge would be quick and hard, and I would use my thumb to work her up.” She breathed the last sentence in one beat. She could not go on. She knew he wanted her to, but she couldn’t.

Tears were streaking her face, leaving burning scars across her cheeks and punishing her for the impure thoughts and ideas – what she had described truly did disgust her. How perverted she was – that she could do this, say this.

Bloody Face’s heavy breath echoed in her mind like a slap. She would have preferred ten slaps over this.  
“Well, let’s put this into action, then,” he smirked, snatching the photo away and standing up to walk over to the counter once again. “Of course, my perfect subject is unluckily gone.”

The journalist’s large eyes settled on his hands as they searched for something – a knife. She gasped, crawling back a little, but when he returned, it settled on Dr. Arden’s rope, cutting it.

After a few seconds of observing the scene, she braved the storm and raised her head high. “What- what subject?”

A hollow feeling reigned over her lower stomach, anxiety climbing its stairs to her heart and gripping at it tightly, squeezing it until it was free of all happiness, hope. She already sensed whom he meant – the name was like a bubble in the air that he had a needle for and wanted to pop. It made her need to retch, made her grasp at her gown and dig holes in her thighs.

“Wendy.”

That broke a dam, then. A flood of tears overcame her and shook her to the bone. She screamed, angrily. Her body fell to the floor with her clenched fists punching the pavement in desperation. It was like a building wave, her insides twisting first into anxiety and then into raw pain – it cut her flesh and stripped her of her skin.

Why?

She had known Wendy was in danger for weeks, had accepted, in a way, her death – but the idea of her having died in such an atrocious way was what truly shook her. Skinned alive. Killed by Bloody Face.

“I wanted you to make love to her – as you would have in life,” he smiled – it was an almost kind smile, benign on someone else’s face, but it held no good on his. It was manipulative. “Unluckily, Dr. Arden fell on her. Broke her face and waist into crystallized bits of flesh. I had to burn her after that.”

 _No. No. No_. She didn’t want to listen to him. Her ears tried to block out the noise, but anytime he spoke, she listened. He had that sort of voice, she supposed. That kind of voice you cannot ignore; however hard you might try, it never works.

“I can always provide you a different subject,” he cooed, eyeing the picture of the young nun pointedly. “But for now. Fuck him. It is very important for our process, for all of this, that you realize the differences – how well you can use your power and prowess. I want you to feel safe with the male body – and that is why Dr. Arden will be tied up.”

She wailed, shaking her head. “No, please, no,” she begged, her tear-stained face breaking into an ugly sob. She hugged her knees and tried to protect herself from whatever action he was prompting her into. Like a scared bunny, she hid her head from the predator – he could still see her, but as long as her eyes could not lay on his, she was safe.

“You will fuck him, Lana,” said the man convincingly, playing with something in the sink. “You will fuck him – and then I will capture that Sister of yours and I will make you fuck her as well before you will watch me skin her alive. It’ll be useful, you see.” There was conviction in his eyes as he spoke the last statement, a hint of hope glinting from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Then, he covered his face with a bloodied mask. Bloody Face. “You’ll be a different woman after this. We’ll both help each other.”

Lana’s response was another scream.  


  
\--  


  
“I don’t like the fact that we’re staying in the bushes until you call the cops,” mumbled Shelley, leaning against Miss Bertrand who hummed in agreement. “I just feel like we should all participate in this. How weird can it be that four women want to meet him? It’s like a party for men. They like sex and we can pretend that’s what we’re offering.”

“We’re not offering sex,” snapped Sister Jude, her crouched frame slightly hidden by branches and leaves; disappointment was painted across her old features within the wrinkles and the pursed lips. “Sister Mary Eunice and I are two refined brides of the Lord and I do not like the assumption that either of us could ever stoop as low as to break our vows and forsake everything – for what? For whom? Miss Winters?”

The young nun recoiled and nearly choked, the saliva she had been swallowing catching in her throat and she had to cover her mouth to avoid any worried glances. Like a thief stealing into a house during the night, the notion of her forsaking everything for Lana clawed its way into her mind. It made her heart flutter, yearn for an unknown feeling that she had never considered – and yet she would do anything for Lana. She had said so many times already and it sounded as truthful each time.

Lana, Lana, _Lana_. She’d see her again, now, perhaps. Perhaps not. But the image of the woman warmed her insides, made the cold grass beneath her feet feel less damp, made her shiver less – if love felt as warm, she would yearn for it every day.

But first, she needed to make sure Lana was alright and safe.

“I really think we should just get going. It’s already dark,” she murmured in a whisper, hunching low as a car roared nearby. The other women reluctantly agreed, each mumbling some lament that Mary Eunice turned a deaf ear to.  
Sister Jude stood up first, after having crawled to a car and was promptly followed by the younger nun. The darkness provided a sort of cover to their act, making them seem less suspicious. A broken lamp right in front of Dr. Thredson’s doorstep sent shivers down Mary Eunice’s spine – it was like a trap.

With only the moon and the stars as witnesses, the nuns crossed the road and prayed to the Lord for protection. God felt gone here and only a dark aura surrounded Dr. Thredson’s house, a steam of evil seeping into the Sister’s flesh and creeping into the cracks, devouring her, catching her breath and prickling tears at the brims of her eyelids.

If she hadn’t thought of the man as evil before, with his queasy smiles and horn-rimmed glasses providing him Devil-like horns, the cold that crawled beneath was proof enough.

 _I’m afraid, Sister_ , the thought raced through her mind and she extended her hand to catch it, hold it hostage. Her feet stomped near the door, wary. The cold beads of her white rosary wringed to her fingers tightly, in no way placating the fear. There was no peace in this storm of emotions.

“Sister, before we go in, I want to give you this,” declared the older nun, her bony, gloved fingers digging into Mary Eunice’s forearm; she fiddled within her habit and pulled out an oval shaped object. It shone in the moonlight, flashing dangerously in the young nun’s eyes. “It’s a knife. And I also have a syringe that might sedate him – if you don’t want to be violent. But I do warn you that you might have to be.”

Mary Eunice eyed the woman confusedly, taking an instinctive step back. “No. I cannot, Sister.” The moon cast a light on only half of Sister Jude’s taunting face, her brown eyes covered in the shadows, menacing in their disapproving look. “I won’t need these things.”

The older nun scoffed, grabbing the nun’s hand strongly and forcing it open to slide the two objects in. They were warmer than she would have expected and they didn’t fit into her hand. “Hide them and use them wisely. I have my own spare.”

With that last thought left uttered into the Sister’s head, the old nun rang the bell, its drill ringing in her ears piercingly. It flooded her with memories of Dr. Arden again – it made no sense, but it made her recoil and grab on the railing, its cold surface stabilizing her.

An eye appeared through the peephole and then the door unlocked hastily revealing the psychiatrist. Somehow, the first thing that Mary Eunice noticed was the one strand of hair that had left his usually slicked back hair. His eyes were the second thing, wide in shock, his mouth agape completing the picture.

Quickly, he recomposed himself and smiled. “Sisters,” he purred, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I thought I was clear when I told Frank I was done working at Briarcliff.” He leaned against the doorframe, the message clear: though he was speaking to them, he was not inviting them in. “Do you have any objections to that?”

Biting her tongue, Mary Eunice merely stared at him. “Well, I do have some, yes. If you would let us in, we could explain them over some water,” ventured the older nun instead, an icy smirk matching the man’s drawn on her lips.

The man’s nostrils widened and his lips pursed, until he exhaled deeply and stepped aside. “Come in, then, Sisters. Forgive the dust around, but I was rather busy this afternoon.”

There was no dust in the house. None. It was the cleanest house Mary Eunice had ever seen. Compared to Lana’s house which had been untouched for months and thrashed into a worse state by the two former patients, this house reeked of cleanness. Every wall, every drawer, every lamp or piece of furniture – everything was clean.

An eerie silence filled the house, disturbed only by the tapping of their feet against the slick pavement; it settled in Mary Eunice’s heart, it prickled goosebumps upon her skin, it hitched her breath.

“Sit down,” suggested the psychiatrist, the order hidden behind a quipping tone. After they followed through, he continued. “Wine?” Mary Eunice shook her head immediately, gripping the edge of her habit as Sister Jude’s words reverberated in her head. Indulgence is a sin and alcohol pushes us into the Devil’s grasp. Neither in a situation where Sister Jude was not present, would she have indulged, but the older nun’s broad frame added weight to the situation.

“Yes, red, please,” was however Sister Jude’s response. Stealing a glare towards the younger nun, the nun shrugged. “We can all indulge sometimes, Sister – tomorrow is Mass and we can ask for penitence.” Her hand waved in the air, whooshing near Mary Eunice’s face. “Have some, Sister.”

“Oh, no, I-.”

“I allow it,” seethed the old nun, her cold gaze settling upon her. It sent a chill down her spine; she nodded warily, her blue eyes glancing at the man to convey her agreement.

Only when he left the room, did Mary Eunice feel comfortable enough to breathe. The room smelled of something that reminded her of Lana. She couldn’t explain it, but the woman was near. Like a thought at the back of her mind, Lana seemed to be at the back of the house’s essence. She breathed into the air and it mingled with Mary Eunice’s. Though her eyes could not lay upon the brunette’s frame, the young nun sensed her.

“I feel like she’s here,” she leaned over to the older nun, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, her rosary wrung into her palm tightly – it provided no comfort to pray to God, but she was too used to it to let go. “Lana. She’s here.”

The old nun sighed deeply, her whole body vibrating with a throaty laugh. “Give it time, Sister. Remember your place.”  
Like a tap upon a bottle, the psychiatrist’s return tapped the breath within her, choking her. She gasped and eyed him worriedly, shifting in her seat. Whatever happened, she hoped he could not sense her fear. But like a lion sensing a prey’s fright, she could see his nostrils widening as he laid a glance on her.

“Say when,” Dr. Thredson instructed, the bottle of red wine hovering over the three glasses. They offered a shade over a bowl of nuts – the shape of the former made her skin crawl. Her fingernails scabbed at her palm as she watched it in horror.

When she averted her gaze, she noticed the psychiatrist’s gaze upon her and she smiled weakly. “Thank you,” she whined, kicking herself for how small her voice sounded. “It’s very kind you, Dr. Thredson, to offer us wine.”

“Yes,” agreed Sister Jude, her eyes gleaming with mirth. She extended a hand towards the bowl and took a nut between her fingers. The crunch of it rang in Mary Eunice’s ears, who tried to focus on the conversation at hand, but found herself drawn towards the different particularities of the house.

There was a door that seemingly led to a corridor and she itched to explore it. An arch connected the living room to the kitchen, a thin wall slightly separating the two rooms, but through it she could see a phone. Detached. As almost everywhere in the house, lamps adorned the kitchen, as well as near the door and on.

Though full of plants, the house had no earthly smell to it, holding no natural or familiar air to it. Every plant, despite its green colors, seemed dead within as though living by sheer force of will by its owner and not its own.

“Are you always this interested in the house’s décor, Sister?” Inquired Dr. Thredson not unkindly, his voice thick as honey; he offered her a smile and tipped his glass of wine forward – Mary Eunice understood the offer and picked up her own glass of wine, tipping it with his and then promptly with Sister Jude’s as well.

 _You have to answer, idiot_. “Yes. Houses are,” she sipped the wine, tasting the bitterness on her tongue rather strongly; it made her grimace but it also allowed a pause to think, “interesting. And yours is rather beautiful, Dr. Thredson.”

Dr. Thredson narrowed his eyes, observing her curiously, a dark shade upon his hooded eyes. “I designed it myself.”

“Mhm,” Sister Jude shifted closer to Mary Eunice, laying a hand on the table. “The wine is delicious.” Delicious? It’s bitter and gives me a tummy ache. Upon reflection, she realized the latter could be prompted by her menstruation instead.

The minutes stretched as the trio drank and observed each other warily, eyes skimming over each frame and the room. Dr. Thredson was restless, tapping his fingers against the sofa and his leg against the table; Mary Eunice began biting her fingernails, feeling the wine settling in her bladder already, the urge to pee suddenly strong – and she hadn’t gone to the last since the previous day – the most calm of the three was Sister Jude, delighting in the wine and slumping a bit forward to prop her elbows against her knees, her gaze flicking and yet mostly fixed upon the psychiatrist.

“Why did you leave our fine institution, Oliver?” Asked the old nun suddenly, cutting the tension with a large knife. An odd look crossed Dr. Thredson’s face, but it dissipated as he pushed the glass against his red lips and smiled weakly. “It is rather curious that you left the institution around the same time as Miss Lana Banana, ‘s all.”

“Oliver,” he mused, the now-empty glass tipping between his fingers; gaze fixed upon it for a moment, he lifted his hooded eyes towards the older nun, examining her. Curiosity and judgement painted in his eyes like with a brush, the strokes uneven and the colors dark. “I didn’t know we were on first name basis, Jude.”

“We are not.”

He chuckled, tilting his head to a side, averting his gaze from Sister Jude to frown upon the younger nun. “You think she’s here, don’t you?” Mary Eunice widened her eyes, stammering a response; he laughed. “You’re wondering why she’s not here with me right now, though.” Bottle of wine in his hand, he offered another large amount to the older nun. “Of course, following your trail of thought – I definitely would not be floundering a fugitive around.”

Mary Eunice worried her bottom lip, casting her gaze upon him. Every word he said was like a rope tightening around her throat, its hold stronger with each syllable – Lana was her lifeline, her stool to stand on. As long as she had the certainty the Lana was here and that she was alive, the stool beneath her could not fall and he could not hang her.

 _But there are other means for a rope. Sheer strength and determination can also be weapons against a weak neck_.

A cold, trembling hand laid on her neck instinctively and she offered him a weak smile, apologetic. The bladder now ached with need to find a toilet, itching to find release. Her blue eyes watered with tears of shame and anger. She could hold it in until she found Lana.

“That doesn’t truly answer our question, but-,” Sister Jude paused upon Mary Eunice’s sniffle and turned to the younger woman with a glare. She squeezed Mary Eunice’s bicep. “Sister, what is wrong?”

“Nothing,” lied the young nun through gritted teeth.

“Go out for a stroll, now,” ordered Sister Jude, her tone allowing no rebuff.

The young nun glanced at Dr. Thredson warily, but if anything about the behavior bothered him, he did not let it show upon his face. His lips pursed only a little, but being as thing as they were, they often seemed pursed. With a courteous nod towards the forbidden door, he sighed, “Go on, then. Who am I to stop—what, a bladder?”

Mary Eunice startled, snapping her gaze to him, surprised. Her eyes widened and her mouth parted to shape an ‘o’.

“Yes,” the word drawled off the tip of her tongue weakly. She stood up warily, eyeing him still; his eyes followed her as well.

“It’s right after the corner.”

The fabric of her habit itched against her sensitive skin as she scrawled to the door, floundering slightly against a couch. She mumbled an apology to the wind and let her cold hand touching the equally cool handle of the door. It turned after a few sharp tugs on her part. The weight of eyes laying their gaze upon her back warmed her skin and prickled it with red blots.

The door revealed a corridor that turned right. She followed to the corner, her fingers trailing across the walls, the surface rough, blotchy. The corner opened to a corridor full of doors, all possibly leading either to Lana or damnation.  
She tugged on one of the doors, as quietly as she could, her fingers wrapping around the handle – it didn’t bulge. The next door didn’t bulge either, rather squeaking under her ministrations. Cold sweat collected at the nape of her neck and dripped down her spine; her gown and habit clung to her frame more with each door – and with each, frenzy added to her actions.

Dark spots and blurry vision came next as she struggled to breathe. Oh, this is no time for a panic attack, she chastised herself, tugging on a wooden door now, its surface smoother than any other door.  
It caved in.

Mary Eunice closed her eyes in anticipation, her heart throbbing in trepidation, thumping against her ribcage in an attempt to escape its confinement. Seeking stability, she leaned against the doorframe and sucked in a preparatory breath – this was it. She could tell it was.

Lana was near.

The room that appeared before Mary Eunice’s open eyes was dark, black hands grabbing her habit and playing with her hair; it reeked of evil, the vile stench of murder and rape seeping into her veins like a venom and flowing to her heart. It squeezed at her insides, twisting them left and right, tugging sharply in opposite directions – she was torn apart by the intensity.

Her fingers fumbled through the beads of the rosary as she began her prayers, her other hand blindly searching for a switch. Succumbing into the darkness further, rosary cutting her palm, chilly wind sweeping beneath her gown, intrusive, she fell upon a stool; it hit her on the knee and sent her flying forward in a haze. Grabbing onto a counter, she managed to stabilize herself before any or too much sound was made.

The fall knocked the air out of her lungs, had her panting propped over her the stool, her hands on the sides of it for stability. She could not see it entirely, its shape rather bulgy and square-like, but it was as though it was covering something. Her free hand lowered itself on the floor where a rough mat grazed her fingertips. It was made of an interesting material, sort of wooly. It prickled her fingers like tiny needles, but softer.

Swept over by a sudden anxiety spike, she stood up.

 _Thud_.

The noise had come from the living room. Fear and commotion filled her senses; her heart jumped to her throat. She fumbled to find a switch even more now – and when she found it, eyes blinded by the yellowish light, she floundered backwards.

Before her stood Dr. Thredson a smile plastered upon his lips. A drip of blood sticking to his cheek caught her attention and she chuckled fearfully, taking yet another step backwards in the empty room. Yellowish, with a counter that could be used for many things and a stool onto which she fell – but overall empty.

Somehow that notion struck to her heart as wrong, planned. The vileness and cruelty this room reeked of were not becoming of an empty one – it had been filled with other things before, Mary Eunice sensed it.

But what?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. A naïve part of her hoped it was just rosebuds and flowers and perhaps patients’ files that he did not want to show around. After all, not all men are evil or have cruel ideas.

The blood on his cheek, however, was not a sign of goodwill. It was like a knife in the gut, twisting and twisting to elicit more pain, more whimpers and blood. She squirmed, eyes flicking from the blood to his hands – empty, but he had the upper hand for he knew the house.

“Dr. Thredson,” she prompted, her hand laying against her hips in faux cover of her full bladder. Fixing her gaze upon his, she forced him to stay there staring at her blue eyes as her fingers flicked through her habit and pulled out the syringe. Small enough for the man not to notice it, she squeezed it harder to her stomach, whining. “I must- must be excused. My bladder – it’s rather full.”

The man snorted. “Full. Yes,” he murmured, slowly inching closer to her. She staggered against the stool, breath catching in her throat. “It’s always the toilet with you women.”

“What?”

“Lana also needed to go to the toilet.”

 _Lana. Lana was here? Or maybe had been?_ No, she had to be alive. Mary Eunice could sense her. If Lana had been dead, a part of her would have died as well, ripped from her chest with brute force – and that hadn’t happened yet. Her heart did not bleed for sorrow.

Raising his foot, he inched closer to her. His eyes cast upon the mat and she followed him, swallowing hard the lump in her throat. Blonde, brown and ginger threaded into braids of colors on the carpet, all molded together with care and precision. Almost surgical.

Pads stroked her cheeks, delicate and rough altogether, careful. “Your skin is very nice, Sister,” his thumb touched her trembling lower lip; he smirked. Her eyelashes fluttered in her attempt to look both at his face and his face. “I’ve never had the skin of a virgin.” _Had? Possession_? “I can see why Arthur and Lana yearn it, I guess. Though your lips are rather small – and your breasts are barely showing.” Fingers squeezed around her nipples through the habit. “I could have some fun with you, before I kill you. It’s a shame I put my carpet over here, I’ll have to hurt you a little.”

Fear tightened its hands around her throat and she held her breath forcibly. A warm liquid scorched the insides of her thighs and trickled down her legs settling in a yellow pool, some of it sticking to her pubic hair and the soft hairs of her calves. “No, you don’t-.”

Dr. Arden’s face flashed before her eyes and whipped her cheeks like a leash, opening her eyes wide. The man’s puckered lips hovered over hers, one of his hands over her pulse point, a nail digging into her soft skin; the drawn blood stung her, the sensitive flesh itching for cold water; the muscles of his tongue flicked across his lips as his other hand pushed her against the counter.

The cold metal digging into her sides shook her of her daze – this wasn’t Dr. Arden. Dr. Thredson had her pinned against the counter, possibly waiting for a plea before the attack. He did seem like the type of man to want to establish dominance before knocking her out.

“Dr. Thredson,” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. It was stuffed in the warm air of the empty room. Fear churned in her stomach, balling her hands into fists. The syringe wrung to her palm painfully.

“I can’t decide whether I want her to be the first to taste your lips,” he mused, his breath ghosting over her cupid’s bow. The fruity smell of fermented grapes mixed with the bitter stench of cigarettes mingled with hers in the air. “What do you think, Sister? Should you decide or should she?”

She gulped forcefully – the fear had dried her throat.

“Or I could just knock you out, I guess,” he followed thoughtfully, squeezing her shoulders tightly in his large hands, moving to hit her head against the wall. Prompted by sheer panic and frenzy, her hand raised and she stuck the syringe in his neck, sticking the liquid in as quickly as she could.

Growing heavier in a matter of seconds, his eyes turning around and showing off the whites, his mouth agape and a tight grasp on her shoulders still, the man fell upon his mat and the young nun with him, above him. Her coif fell on his face, in an almost divine attempt to cover the vileness. Like a smothering pillow on a face, the coif, basked in the yellow light of the lamp, offered itself as a weapon. With her hands on each sides of his body, she observed the proposition, weighing upon it carefully.

 _How far are you willing to step away from the Lord’s light in your desperate attempt to save her_? The question echoed like a gunshot, ringing in her ears. A bitter taste settled on her tongue; she stumbled to get up, her entire body teetering to the sides under the weight of her crimes.

 _God will never forgive me now_ , she wept _, my thoughts are like caves of evil_.

“Keys,” she muttered, the thought striking her like a wakening slap. Raspy breaths escaped her mouth as she fumbled through his vest. It was wrong, both to steal and to touch him, but she supposed she had crossed all the possible lines the moment she had decided to sedate him.

There was no escape from the fiery pits of Hell now.  


  
\--  


  
Lana needed to puke.

The bed upon which she lay was too soft for her heavy spirit, too clean for her dirty hands. Ghosts of her actions still flicked upon her stained flesh, blood still stuck to her palms and the stain of it all crawled its path into her heart indefinitely.

She was dirty. Filthy. Not only had she betrayed Wendy with her actions – and Mary Eunice, for all that she had entrusted her with, the faith she had in her – but also herself. Like a puppet, knots tied on hands to drive the toy into madness, throwing it around and manipulating it into acts never dreamed of, Bloody Face had done exactly what he wanted.

Dr. Arden still writhed across the other side of the room, his white face ghastly – ghostly. She had made sure of the latter. Soiled in blood that she had drawn with her chain around his neck, she was trusting him to take his last breath any second now.

 _Or perhaps he already has_ – Lana could not bother herself to look, too absorbed in the self-pity. Time was a concept, perhaps – she wasn’t sure when she had done any of this at all by now.

Thredson hadn’t stopped her. Mirth in his eye, a cigarette in his hand and the smoke burning her throat, he had observed, curious. Just as he did when she served her purpose as porn star. Why didn’t he put her in nice clothes, lipstick on her lips – film it all to add the cherry on the top? Sell it while he was there. ‘Deranged lesbian fucks a half-dead Doctor – a therapeutic film’.

The memory of Dr. Arden’s narrowed, blue eyes glassy eyes staring at her and judging her actions made her shiver. His spit had been meek, hardly more than two droplets, when he had tried to send her away. As if under Dr. Thredson’s gaze she’d have had any chance.

Mary Eunice’s name had dropped from his lips too many times – had been the catalyst for her rage to strangle him. “Her lips are nicer than yours”, he’d whined against her lips. She knew he was a fanatic, clearly wishfully talking – but the admission had turned a bile in her throat, one that hadn’t abandoned her yet.

Her eyes fixed onto the ceiling, its bland colors matching the numbness inside her. Lulled by the agony within her heart and the faces of Wendy and Mary Eunice serving as anchors she fell asleep with her eyes open.

Dread and sorrow danced in the back of her mind, quietly singing of her demise. It was long due to happen with Bloody Face creeping around the hallways, his mask ready, Wendy’s teeth to complete the face. Like a rubber pulled too hard, he’d snap at her as well, hard and fast. Soon, she’d be the one writhing on the floor drowning in a pool of her own blood.

Would Mary Eunice miss her? She wouldn’t even know what had happened – she’d think Lana had abandoned her. In a way, she had. She’d be right to hate me, perhaps. Tears didn’t dampen her face now at the thought. She had wasted too many in a matter of mere hours – more or less. What good was there of crying?

With the blonde nun’s smile drawn in her mind she could not help but yearn for the release of Death, its grasp warm. Warmer than this room could ever be. She’d take her away, from the pain.

Wouldn’t that be great?

Like a vision, an Angel, she saw Her then. Her Angel of Death. Embraced in a halo of bright light, her blond hair blown by the wind – and what wind? The explanation escaped her grasp, understanding being but a hazy memory. What a splendid sight she was, slowly walking towards her as if on clouds, bare feet barely touching the floor. Her white gown was shorter than usual and yet more innocent. A pure, warm surge of love filled her, bliss sedated her. She parted her lips, a delicate smile grazing her skin in a tingling feeling of utter joy.

If Death meant seeing her again, being in her arms again, even if just one last time, she’d take it again and again and again. She did not debate the Angel’s choice of appearance, why it hadn’t become Wendy: it was a naked truth bared to her tired eyes like the exposed flesh of Mary Eunice’s thigh on that photo – Mary Eunice had no faults, was pure. Her outstretched arm and open palm invited her to follow the good path of the Lord.

 _So I deserve Heaven_? The question stuck in her throat and yet there was warm comprehension written across Mary Eunice’s smile. ‘God doesn’t judge you’, her blue eyes seemed to say, freeing her from the sorrow and pain Bloody Face had carved in her chest. She forgave – and gave. Love – it flowed through Lana’s flesh and bones and into her heart. If Death was Love, Lana craved it.

“Take me, o’ Angel of Death,” she whispered. In no way did the words truly come out of her mouth, but they fluttered in the air as if she had shouted them with all the strength in her lungs. Her own hand extended, weakly – she let it hover over her white covers. Did Mary Eunice feel her yearning? Was this even Mary Eunice? Should she refer to her as such?

“Lana.” The name escaped the Sister’s parted, pink lips in a whimper, almost pleading. “Lana!”

 _Yes, I want to come with you, Angel_ , she thought in the hope that her thoughts might reach her beloved friend. _Where are your wings, dearest_? Wings would let them fly away, into the blinding light and beyond. Would Wendy be there?

Panic seared her in a tight grasp with the idea of Mary Eunice already being in Heaven: she’d be dead. Sister Mary Eunice cannot be dead, not so soon. Where being with her would be a blessing, the thought of Death claiming the frail nun sounded like Hell. She loved her too much to allow that. Love. Yes. I love her.

As cold hands caressed her cheeks and trailed the paths of dried tears, the Angel of Death almost lost its power. “Lana, I’m here, is there a chain?” _What? No, please, kiss the pain away, Angel, don’t strangle me with a chain_. She whined, tasting the saltiness of a new fallen soldier – a tear she had not expected. The emptiness it left within to have let that tear escape burned her eyes, heaved her breath. Nothing else could abandon her now. “I need to free you of your chain.”

Bloody Face, Sister Jude, Dr. Arden – they all had put too many chains on Lana, it was true. She needed to be free of them.

Desperation had her reeling over the edge of her bed. Hands fumbled and balled the covers in order to stay safe as softer, colder hands pressed against her abdomen and lower back; they grounded her, placated the haziness of her mind. “Hey, I’m here,” cooed her Angel, golden strands of hair coming into view before strong arms tightened around her middle, cradling her. Like large, uncomfortable earrings, her own arms dangled at her sides awkwardly, uncertain of what to do. “Lana, I’m here, it’s me.”

Lana couldn’t deny her own needs any longer – this could not be Death: it was too warm and too palpable for it to take life rather than give. Perhaps it truly was her Mary Eunice. Or merely a projection of her scarred mind – like a gift wrapped in a bright, angelic frame. She wrapped her arms around her Angel’s waist, her hands gripping onto the fabric of the gown tightly, her fingers digging into the soft flesh almost painfully. Her eyes squeezed shut and she breathed in deeply.

It was not easy to relax: sobs wracked her tired body. In the back of her mind, a voice questioned how long it had been since she had eaten. The young nun was like a feast for a King with her soft breasts pushed against Lana’s chin and the crook of her neck exposed, allowing the patient to nuzzle her nose in it. Sweat reeked off the delicate, milky skin, its stench pulling her further out of her daze – Angels did not smell and neither did visions.

Could it be? Was this truly her Mary Eunice?

“Please, be real,” she wailed, her lips touching the salty skin – it was so real.

Fingers scratched her head in a soothing rhythm, the feeling of short nails against her sensitive scalp heavenly. “Oh, dear,” the deep voice of her sweet nun – strained, a bit weak and tired but precious as honey – was like ice against a wound, “I’m real, I am. Believe me, I am.”

She let the moments pass, wrapped in the tight embrace. With each breath, she convinced herself more of the reality of it, the softness of Mary Eunice’s gown slowly giving its way to reveal the crude truth that she was actually still wearing the rough habit. The black fabric grazed her fingers and the nun’s cross dug into her chest, almost burning.

But the hair was free. Lana reveled in it, her fingers tugging at the strands and relishing in the hitch of the nun’s breath. It was like floating on a cloud, blissful, no Heaven or Earth, no Death or Life – or serial killers and criminal nuns.

As her breath evened out, however, the weight of reality crumbled upon her: she was still in Dr. Thredson’s basement and she had killed Dr. Arden. Hadn’t Mary Eunice seen? How did she get in?

She severed their tight embrace slightly, distancing herself a few mere inches. Her brown eyes stared into tear-brimmed blue ones, traced the outline of Mary Eunice’s swollen, red face. A gaze flicked upon the small, pink lips in a flash, fearful. “How did yuh get here?” She questioned, observing the horror crossing the young nun’s face curiously.

Like a child in confession terrified of the possible punishment, the Sister averted her gaze, her hands retreating to her sides. Lana gaped at the blood staining them – but did she want an explanation? Blood stained her friend’s entire body anyway: from her neck to her legs. It looked as though someone had immersed her in a bath of blood. “Sister J-Jude helped.” _And?_ “I need to free you,” she mumbled under her nose, standing up to pace around the room furiously. Keys dangled from her fingers and a knife Lana hadn’t noticed before lay near Dr. Arden. “The police – I have to call the police.”

“Mary Eunice,” Lana whined. She propped her weight on her wrists as she watched the other woman struggle with the keys. “Mary Eunice,” she added more insistently. “Look at me. What did you do?”

Mary Eunice shot a glance at her; her fingers worked on the keys, searching for the proper one. “Didn’t you see?” The woman shook her head, a flood of tears wetting her face and pausing her mid-action. She was like a leaf, trembling under the force of the wind within her heart, her worries. A selfish part of Lana wanted to just get out of the place, take care of the internal wounds later, but another pained to see the young nun suffer. The latter prevailed. “Oh, how can you still look at me?”

Lana could not understand and before the woman could explain anything further, the chain clicked and opened. A weight eased off her ankle and she gaped at the deep, red wound in awe and horror. It was a miracle come true, almost too soon. It felt as though Mary Eunice had played cards with Fate itself to free her from this prison, her soul tainted in the process.

The nun’s arms snaked over her back and eased her off the bed. “Can you move?” A quiver was attached to the soft voice, uncertainty painted in the nun’s entire being. She reeked of fear and piss. “I don’t know how long he’ll be asleep.”  
Dr. Arden? Oh, no, Lana shook her head involuntarily, the sentence not even leaving the confinement of her mind, he’s dead. I killed him. The journalist saw him with the corner of her eye as her wounded foot touched the floor warily. “I had to kill him.”

“Thank you for that, sort of.” _For killing him? I’ll ask later_. The young nun squeezed her hand, stroked her thumb on Lana’s palm and offered a cautious smile.

Lana bobbed her head awkwardly as the first pains of walking made her twitch in Mary Eunice’s arms. With an armor of steel, however, she soldiered through it. Any yelp that might come, she bit it back; pads dipped into Mary Eunice’s bicep. If it hurt her, the young nun barely let it show, shushing Lana softly and constantly kissing wetly her sweaty forehead. Habit-clad arms clung to her like an anchor holding a ship close to the harbor during a storm – safer than anything she had clung to in a while.

“I’m sorry,” mumbled the sweet nun just as they crossed Dr. Arden’s body. Instinctively, Lana itched to berate that, but then she remembered the knife she had seen on the floor – a similar wound-shape bore its signs on Arden’s chest, though barely deep enough to bleed. “I don’t want them to think it was you. Lana, they can’t know you killed someone.” Wide blue eyes laid on the journalist’s face pleadingly. Watching the pain carve its wounds on the youthful face tore Lana’s heart into pieces – she did not like the explanation, but above all the sorrow it brought. “Sister Jude- she, I—I—.”

“Shh,” Lana dipped a finger under the woman’s wobbly chin and kissed it. She tried to show all the possible love and appreciation in the soft kiss, her lips pressing hard against the pointy part. _I love it – and you, idiot_ – “But you shouldn’t have done that.” It was meant as kind, but the reprehension made the young nun start, miss a step. “They will think you killed him. What will I do then?” She questioned, emotion filling every word.

Mary Eunice remained silent, biting her lower lip in dreaded comprehension.

Though each step lifted a weight off her chest, the executioner lifting his axe away from her head sparing her life, she felt nearly cruel for walking. It hadn’t dawned on her yet, truly, the meaning of Mary Eunice’s actions – and she feared the moment it would.

Air filled her lungs as they entered the corridor – fresher than the stuffed air of the basement, at least. The yellowish light of the ever-present lamps cast over her tired eyes – its nature tightened a choking hold around her throat; the huff of Mary Eunice’s warm breath near her face released her of the hold if only a little.

They were wolves, Mary Eunice and Lana, coming out of a battle, their ragged, wet clothes reeking like a wet dog. Blood still clung to Lana’s palms, but in the corridor it was not a sign of defeat, but rather of victory. Pride. It bore no sign of Bloody Face – she was free.

The last thought gave her a pause and she halted her steps, falling against the wall. It brought the other woman down as well, the equally red hand retreating from the handle to lay on Lana’s cheek. “Yes? Are you too tired to walk? I can bring you something here.” The questions tumbled like a hailstorm and Lana smiled against her own will – the fragile kindness within the young nun was what made her lovable and she had missed it immensely.

With Mary Eunice’s thumb stroking her hollowed cheeks, Lana found the strength to ask the question, “Where is Bloody Face?”

A series of emotions flashed in her nun’s face: confusion, fear, comprehension, terror. The last one stuck on her features and made her gape. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered under her breath, her hand dropping from Lana’s face (she missed it immediately). Seeing the instinctive need to retreat dawn on the young woman’s frame, she grabbed the hand and laced their fingers together. “He—He’s Bloody Face?”

Lana worried her bottom lip, bobbed her head as affirmation. Mary Eunice’s eyes watered, a giant tear fell down her red cheeks – before it could fall on the dark habit, Lana caught it with her finger. It felt like someone was squeezing a lemon into a dry sponge: her eyes did not mirror the tears but they burned immensely. “Yes.”

“I—Lana, oh goodness,” the woman breathed softly, her hands cupping Lana’s face. She leaned in and peppered the older woman with kisses, then embraced her tightly, cradling her head in her hands. “I sensed something was wrong. You hadn’t come looking for me.” You didn’t come for me, either. “And I was so worried. I immediately knew Dr. Thre-Bloody Face must have been involved. I—I could have come too late, oh my God.”

Lana forced them to separate, grabbing Mary Eunice’s shoulders fiercely. “But you didn’t.”

Mary Eunice’s chin wobbled, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and sniffled, a desperate, sad look painting its blue colors in her eyes, tears streaming like waterfalls. She was not convinced.

When they heard a grunt coming from the living room, they both startled. Mary Eunice reacted first, turning the handle hastily. “Stay here, please. I’ll bring you a washcloth – or something.”

Lana didn’t want to stay there, her legs itched to run after the young nun whose worried expression had started a turmoil in her heart. The crinkle between Mary Eunice’s eyebrows was a sign of distress and though it appeared there more often than not, Lana knew this was more serious. She cursed her ankle for being as useless as to need constant support to walk.

Was that Thredson she heard? Had he woken up in the living room? If he had, Mary Eunice was as good as gone. Lana could not stand idle by – thoughts churned through her brain like trees in a tornado, they twirled and attacked and destroyed all around her.

Ignoring the pain, she almost made her way to the living room—,

 _Thud. Thud-thud_.

The banging startled Lana enough that she tethered, her fingers digging into the rough wall to hold herself steady and drawing blood on her pads. Pain was everlasting.

“NYPD! Open the door!” A manly voice exclaimed on the other side of the door.

A yelp came from the kitchen and Mary Eunice came running with a rag in her hands. There was a distressed look on her face and despite the haziness of the situation, with the police literally banging at the door, the young nun stopped at her side and cupped her face.

“Here, clean your hands,” she ordered gently, pushing the wet rag into her palms and standing up quickly. Lana wanted to call out for her, order her to come back immediately to her side and ignore the cops – they could wait, her thumping, yearning heart could not. But she didn’t.

She sagged against the wall, her ass landing on the floor painfully – the floor tiles dug into her cheeks as if she had landed on rocks. Despite the peace it offered to her strained ankle, she despised her position of weakness.

Her eyes burned with tears that she couldn’t cry. They were punching her, begging for release. She squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to free them, but it was to no avail.

“Sirs,” Mary Eunice’s voice cut through her self-deprecating moment and brought her back into reality, “are you here because of the kidnapping?”

“What?” A police officer scoffed, his manly voice reverberating in Lana’s head like a terrible reminder of men’s existence. Mary Eunice had that power to make her forget men even walked the Earth. “We’ve come here for Mr. Thredson.”

“Oh, yes!” Chirped the young nun happily, naively. From her corner, Lana saw a smile brighten her Mary Eunice’s face, a sigh of relief leaving her chest. But Lana already foresaw the next statement,

“He called for help. About half an hour ago,” responded a different police officer, his voice grumpier, almost bear-like. He reminded her of those caricature characters she saw in theaters, those exaggeratedly grumpy for satirical purposes. The first police officer already stormed past him, but he hadn’t noticed Lana yet. “There’s blood on your hands, ma’am—.”

“Sister, actually, I’m a nun—.”

“Sister, then, why is there blood on your hands, Sister?”

Mary Eunice froze, clenching her fists around her habit. Lana felt her heart squeeze at the sight of the young nun’s wobbly chin. The bear-like cop already had a hand near his belt, grabbing the hand-cuffs as the other hand pointed the barrel of the gun against Mary Eunice; the cop who had stormed past had finally noticed Lana—, “It’s mine! I was hurt by Dr. Thredson!”

Four pairs of eyes turned to her, tearing her apart with their scrutinizing gazes – all except Mary Eunice, who instead eyed her pleadingly, softly, almost begging her to drop whatever she was doing. Always the martyr, the young nun probably thought she deserved any punishment that may come upon her – even prison for a crime she had not committed.

“Ma’am—sister?”

“Ma’am,” she assured, “Miss Winters. My name is Lana Winters.” She backed up against the wall roughly, the air knocking out of her lungs. It was a useless ploy to hide herself from their pointed guns, the sight making her skin crawl, made goosebumps grow – they had a mission here, and it didn’t involve caring about Bloody Face’s victims.

“Why are you here, Miss Winters?” Questioned the first cop, his green eyes glaring at her accusingly. There was a wrinkle in the arch between his furrowed brows, but he looked rather young: freckles flecked his nose and cheeks in an almost quirky way. He reminded her of Kit, somehow. If he weren’t pointing a gun at her, Lana would have almost trusted him.

But she had trusted Bloody Face as well, so how reliable was she? “Dr. Thredson kidnapped me,” she whimpered, forcing a brave tear to scar her cheek, biting her lower lip as to draw blood. Finally, her eyes relented and with it came a flood. The young cop blurred before her eyes, his entire frame wavering and zooming in and out of her gaze. She hoped it would pull some strings and squeeze his heart.

Mary Eunice made to come to her, comfort her, but a large hand laid on her shoulder and the bear-like cop put the gun against her temple, his finger twitching against the trigger. The young nun yelped, freezing in her spot. Her blue eyes were wide in shock and fear, her fingers were alternating between squeezing the habit, the rosary or tugging sharply at the cross on her chest. For the first time ever, Lana found herself cursing the lack of the coif, its absence showing the nun in a less trustworthy light.

A third cop intervened, then, entering the house rather slowly, as if regretting his choice to ever enter the house. “If Dr. Thredson has kidnapped you, where is he now?”

Lana tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat ineffectively, her throat constricting and choking her. “He’s—He—.”

“I knocked him out,” ventured the young nun with a brave façade. Her eyes flicked from man to man and then back to Lana, seeking comfort that the latter could only give in the form of a longing gaze. I love you, she wanted to tell her. “I came to free Miss Winters and I knocked him out, because he had attacked my friend—.”

“Miss Winters?” Lana didn’t appreciate the mocking tilt in the bear-like cop’s tone.

“No, Sister Jude. My Superior. She’s my mentor,” explained Mary Eunice hastily, recoiling at the slightest twitch of the gun against her temple.

“So it’s three of you in this house, yes?”

Mary Eunice stammered a little, “Y-yes.”

The three cops looked at each other strangely, exchanging rather knowing glances.

A moment of silence passed – her own heartbeat thumped loudly in her chest, the constant, now faster, flow of blood through her veins only making her more nervous. All she wanted to do now was wrap her arms around her nun’s frame and hold her tight, protect her from all the evil that seemed to be crossing the men’s faces.

When the bear-like cop grabbed Mary Eunice roughly by her forearm and said, “Sister, you are under arrest for breaking and entering,” she wasn’t even surprised, and yet she gasped, whimpering when she tried to get up and stop him. A cold barrel against her own temple froze her. “You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“You have no right to do that!” Argued Lana, wriggling in the young cop’s grasp as he pulled her up her feet. She cried out when her foot touched the floor and shook aggressively against him. “I was hurt, asshole. By Bloody Face. Look into his rooms – you’ll see! Just fucking look into his rooms!”

“Jonah,” referred the bear-like to the last cop, “go check the rooms and look into it. Patty,” he paused dramatically, a heavy sigh fluttering from his throat; he glared at Lana with a knowing glint in his eyes – one she wasn’t sure if she could interpret as kind or evil, “come with me.”  
  


\--

 

Lana had expected the cops to handcuff them as they exited the house, but aside from pointing their guns at them, they deemed it safe enough to keep their hands free. In their defense, Mary Eunice looked very close to passing out from the commotion, the whites of her eyes showing more often than her iris – Lana couldn’t see her own reflection, but she sensed it mirrored the young nun quite a lot.

Sister Jude was feistier and was handcuffed by Jonah the Cop, forcibly taken into his and Patty the Young Cop’s car along with Dr. Thredson, as Mary Eunice and Lana were taken into the bear-like police officer’s car.

They had plenty of space for each other, but as soon as the darkness enveloped them, the two women found themselves drawn to each other like magnets. Before the engine could even start, Lana grabbed Mary Eunice’s hand in her own and intertwined their fingers in a tight, searing grasp. Bony fingers dug into her own comfortably – they fit each other like a key would fit the right lock.

Lana never wanted to let go, let herself indulge in the idea of never needing to. Her head dropped against the young nun’s own, the soft blond hair acting like a pillow beneath her cheek. Single strands of hair tickled her nose in a way so familiar it felt as though they had always been meant to do so. She lulled herself in the thought of being back home like this, resting in Mary Eunice’s arms.

 _Wendy will never lay beneath me again_. The yearning seemed distant, dull, numbed by all that had happened in the past months. She chastised herself for it. Guilt clawed its way into her heart – Wendy had supported her in everything she did, even if behind closed doors, and she was repaying her like this? Her insides twisted at the thought, the venom of her own betrayal poisoning her veins. She squeezed her young nun’s hand, sought the comfort that only Mary Eunice could give now.

The nun shifted beneath her, a hum vibrating in her throat, as if woken from a daze. “Lana,” she called uncertainly. There was a pause, in which she reflected upon her next words. “I was so worried about you – you know?”

Lana did know. It seared her in a tight hold, the affection the young woman felt for her – it felt uncalled for: she hadn’t done enough for her. Cold fingers traced the outline of her jaw, forced her to reply to the statement. “I know. I was worried about you, too,” she admitted. _I looked for you everywhere, where were you?_ It sounded like an accusation – Lana couldn’t bring herself to ask it. “How did you know? That he was evil?”

She couldn’t say the name – her failure burdened her. She hoped they would arrest him, but the procedures of the law were something she had long given up on. The law had the right to arrest her for loving Wendy, had kicked Wendy so deep into the closet that she feared even a peck on the lips – there was no way it’d be on her side, now.

“I don’t know,” Mary Eunice’s voice was weak with the admission. “I just- I looked at him and I could feel my skin crawl. There was something evil about him.” The soft head parted from hers but not far enough for their hot breaths to stop mingling. Her young nun locked her gaze with hers and promised, “It was not your fault. We all trust people that aren’t trustworthy sometimes. The Lord forgives all and trusts all – and we have inherited that from Him.”

“I missed your religious pep-talks,” a chuckle bubbled in her throat and she thanked the darkness for covering the glee on her face. “I feel like a failure for not having realized what you had immediately,” the nun opened her mouth to protest, but Lana put a finger on her lips and shushed her. “But I guess you’re right. You did trust Dr. Arden – and then he attacked us in the hallway.”

The mention of the doctor’s name made Mary Eunice’s still and severe their tight embrace even further. Laying her back against the seat, the young nun sighed and swallowed thickly. Strings tugged at her heart and her hands itched to bring the woman back to her, but there was a chill between them now, an unspoken deal to be separate for a while, to drop the conversation.

 _She doesn’t want to talk about it yet_. A voice in her heart accused the nun for the lack of faith, but another, more compassionate one, understood how hard it could be to talk. She was not sure she herself could ever speak of what Bloody Face had done to her, not right now, at least. The sole thought was like a hand twisting her insides, tearing them apart and prickling tears in her tired eyes.

Trust was not the problem – she trusted Mary Eunice wholeheartedly and she knew her friend felt the same. But sometimes the scars dug too deep to simply bury them with dirt and speak of them simply.

“I’m sorry.” The words escaped Mary Eunice’s parted lips in a barely audible whisper. A tentative hand reached out to hers and hovered close by, the ghost of a touch tingling in the stuffed air. Lana closed the distance, lacing their fingers tightly.

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching their respective windows. The houses and skyscrapers succeeded one another in a hazy, blurry picture until they stopped near an illuminated building. Despite the most likely late hour, it was quite busy.

The bear-like cop exited the vehicle first, then opened the door on Mary Eunice’s side. A large huff of fresh hair hit Lana in the face; she cursed her simple Briarcliff gown. Her legs and arms were exposed to the chill. Intrusive wind touched her panties and stroked her breasts. She shivered.

“Hands behind your back,” grumbled the cop. His gaze burned upon their laced fingers, but he said nothing about it. After making sure the two were out and handcuffed, he pushed Mary Eunice towards the other two cops. He made a worried face, “I left something in the car.”

“Do you want me to—.”

“I’ll take her in, don’t worry,” he waved his hand and grabbed the journalist by the forearm. His large pads dug into her sensitive flesh almost painfully.

As soon as the other cops disappeared from their view, he pushed her against the car, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Balling her gown, he inched closer to her, his eyes dark cast in the light of the street lamps. “I know you, Lana Winters.” A chill tingled down Lana’s spine; she turned to eye him, hesitant, her nails jabbed into her palms. She had enough experience with men not to take that sentence lightly. “I won’t hesitate to kick you and that lover of yours into jail if you out me.”

 _Oh_. She recognized him now. _Ben Furrows_.

Against the cold surface of the car, the trembling of her body never subsided. Angrily, she wriggled in his grasp, thanking the chill for giving her an excuse for the shivers down her spine. “Let go of me,” she hissed. With a nearly dazed look on his face, he loosened his tight hold on her arm; she shook her head, eyeing him gleefully. “You really are stupid. You know?”

The man furrowed his brows. “What—What do you mean?”

Lana bit her bottom lip to stifle the laugh that bubbled in her throat. “I didn’t remember where I knew you from,” she explained. The cop gaped like a fish. A worried light now gleamed in his eyes; he staggered backwards. Caught in his own trap, the man looked beaten down. Lana basked in her own glory, continuing, “How’s Marc? He was down with a cold last time I saw him – but that was quite a long time, now. Three months... A long time, much can happen in three months.” _A lot happened to me._ She swallowed down the tears.

“I broke up with Marc,” Ben mumbled sheepishly.

“I don’t care,” she seethed. “I have no business exposing you. If I outed you, I’d expose myself as well. But you threatened My Mary- _Mary Eunice._ You threatened Mary Eunice. I don’t like that. If I were a bitch, I’d out you now without caring about myself.” _Mary Eunice would hate that. Are you really as selfish as to put her in a terrible position just because some dumbass threatened you? Grow up. What would Wendy think of you?_ “But I’m a grown woman. And Wendy—.”

“ _Wendy_!” The man’s face brightened with a grin. They had, after all, met thanks to Wendy’s acquaintance to Marc. “I didn’t know you two broke up, honestly. Thought you’d be together forever, but I see you’re now with—.”

Unable to use her hands, she kicked his foot, a sudden fire sparkling in her lower belly (she nearly fell, then, because of her other foot. It was too weak to stand upon itself without any support). “ _Shut up._ Wendy is – that man you don’t want to arrest?”

“No, I—.”

“He _killed_ her. Sister Mary Eunice saved me from him, but it was too late for-.” A sob stifled her sentence. Fat tears traced her cheeks and dampened her cold lips. Sadness pushed her off an unknown cliff, into uncharted territory. It was raw and numb all at once – she wanted to scream but there was also an unknown peace embracing her.

A tentative hand touched her forearm. “I’m sorry. I—I had no idea. I always liked Wendy—.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” she spat. “If you’re not planning on arresting him, then let me into the building.” As if on cue, a strong wind skirted up her gown and caressed her skin. She shivered. “I’m cold.”

Defeated, the man led her into the police station quickly, even offering her his own jacket. Lana considered she had not stooped as low as to accept anything from someone who threatened Mary Eunice. The image of the latter crossed her mind briefly. Like a lighthouse, she brought her back into harbor, made her feel safe.

Unluckily, when she entered the warm building, her body still trembling in aftershocks even when they covered her with a blanket, the young nun was not there. Emptiness stretched in her heart at the sight. She gulped thickly, trying and failing to swallow down a lump in her throat. It felt selfish to want the woman to be a comforting cover for her anytime she felt unhappy in any way, but she couldn’t help herself.

She yearned for the soft touch of her friend.

As soon as they freed her hands and sat her down on a chair, she felt a heavy glare upon her face.

 _Sister Jude_.

The old nun had a dark look on her old features, dark circles nearly cupping her eyes; an ugly bruise was painting its crimson and purple colors on her cheekbone and another was right beneath her hairline. There was a certain almost animalistic ferocity to her appearance. Messy, bloody hair only colored the picture ever further.

“It’s the second time I get hit for you, Lana Banana,” the blonde woman accused. If her hands weren’t hand-cuffed on the front – probably a mercy to allow her to pray – she would have pointed a finger. “Tell me one good reason I shouldn’t lie against your favor now.”

Lana shook her head. _Fuck off_ , she wanted to scream. Writhing in her seat and facing forward, she initially considered simply ignoring the woman. But the statement rang in the back of her mind, bouncing off her thoughts and imposing itself.

 _Alcohol_. No, she had none to offer. Power was out of question as well, for she was powerless. Weak. Sister Jude, Dr. Arden and Bloody Face had made sure of that.

It was easy to have someone to blame for all her weakness – they had ruined her life in more ways than one. And yet here she was, sitting in a police station with Sister Jude showing off two bruises she had gotten for her. It seemed like a miracle, almost too good to be true. She was expecting the old nun to snap any second now, yell at her and put her into iron chains.

She didn’t trust her.

But the woman’s glare was different – expectant. With beads wrung deep into her palm and her shifting gaze, pursed lips, she seemed to be seeking an actual reason.

So Lana thought of the only response that could satisfy her, “Sister Mary Eunice.”

“Sister Mary Eunice?” Scoffed the old nun, regarding her sternly. A series of emotions flashed in her eyes at her own question, as if she recalled a distant memory. The low light of the waiting room reflected in the angry gaze, tears brimmed in those tired eyes.

Lana averted her gaze. The sad smile painting on the woman’s lips was not a sight she wanted to take part in.

“The compassion she feels for you _baffles_ me,” slurred the drunkard, drawling out the words slowly in her Bostonian accent. “She had always been my favorite, sweet little Mary Eunice. I always cared after her like a daughter, cleaned up her messes if needed so that the Monsignor wouldn’t see.” _You did it for yourself_. “If she was ill, I coddled her, I punished her out of love – it was my God given duty. And off she goes into the world, befriending **dykes**. She’d jump off a _cliff_ for you.” Lana worried her bottom lip. _I’m well aware of her martyrdom, thank you very much._ “I’m not stupid, Miss Winters. I can see you’re using her as a lifeguard.”

 _Yes_ , the brunette thought bitterly, _I’m drowning and she’s my lifeguard, pulling me out of the water._ It was an implicit truth, however, that in Sister Jude’s example Lana drowned the lifeguard after saving herself. Lana briefly wondered if she wasn’t right.

The journalist bit her tongue as not to snap. She was tired – she just wanted a moment of quiet before recalling all that the monster had done to her. Had forced her to do.

(Dr. Arden’s body still smelled beneath her fingertips. She doubted she’d ever get over the feeling of his rough body beneath her hands. Images of blood dripping from his mouth and flowing out of his neck would never abandon her)

The old nun tsked. “You’re not even gonna reply to me? It’s because you know I’m right. You don’t deserve her,” she paused and sighed, “But the truth is – neither do I.”

Lana started, eyed the woman suspiciously. That was probably the most truthful thing the old nun had ever said – perhaps the only truthful thing. It sounded wrong in the older nun’s voice, weak. As if she was a soldier who had just waved a white flag in the midst of a battle.

Digging her pads against the arms of the chair, she offered the woman a pitiful gaze. Her mouth opened several times in an attempt to express her frustration, but a knot in her throat held her back. How could she say that she knew exactly what the woman meant? That every time she relied on the young nun’s touch, she felt trapped? Admitting defeat was not an option.

“Sister Mary Eunice is my friend. I care about her,” she stated, marking each word by word. “I would not let anything happen to her.”

“Like Miss Peyser?” Prompted the nun, the question hitting Lana on the chest like a whole house. It hitched the breath in her throat, prickled tears in her eyes.

“You have no right. You locked me at Briarcliff, **I wasn’t there for her because _you_ condemned me to suffering**!” Her voice raised with each word, the anger rumbling in her chest and expanding into her throat. The flames soared in her heart, thrust her into accusations long held within. “She d-died – but of course, you already know that. Did you work with him? Is that how you know?”

“No, Miss—.”

“Did you hope he’d capture me and flay me alive?”

“No, I did not—.”

“You stopped working for him only when you realized he’d take your last pawn, your precious _Mary_ , is that it?”

“ _No_.”

Lana shook her head. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t _trust_ you.” Fury had her reeling over the edge of an abyss – if she took a wrong step now, she might fall and condemn herself along with Mary Eunice to Hell. Sweet Mary Eunice. Who would take the blame for Dr. Arden’s death if it came to it – and Lana was sure it would come to it.

Selfishness was not even in the cards; Lana would not let Mary Eunice rot for her own crime. _She loved her too much for that._ She had spent the past months wishing for freedom, but if Bloody Face wanted her to sacrifice somebody else’s – Mary Eunice’s – freedom for her own, he was playing himself.

“I don’t care about your trust,” assured the old nun. “But I will earn it anyway.”

Though Lana did not believe one word of that, she offered the older woman a withering, tearful smile.

_Whatever tickles her cooch._

 

\--

 

“Why is there blood on you, Sister?”

 _I killed someone._ Except she hadn’t. The man, the man whose touch still lingered on her own body, had been dead from the moment she had arrived. It had shaken her, frankly, to see him dead, in that pool of blood. In the bright light of the basement, his skin had looked as pale as the Angel of Death but less comforting. His face had resurfaced feelings in her she had been trying to suppress for a day. A coppery taste of blood returned at the mere idea of him.

Blood trickled down the nape of her neck and into her black habit, the white patch dotted with droplets of the crimson ichor. Her hands were clammy with the paint-like liquid, but not as sticky as her legs were – the reek of the latter drilled her nostrils and forced her to hitch her breath several times.

“My friend, she was hurt,” she replied instead, in the end. Her shoes clicked on the marble floor loudly as she stretched her feet awkwardly. The white beads of her rosary drew new blood from her cold palms as she played with them in lieu of prayer. If nothing else could provide her comfort, God could. With her prayers to Him, His kindness showering her from above, He was her only solace.

Apart from Lana. She _was_ hurt, truly. Could they not see? She had been hurt so much – not just by _Bloody Face_ , but by Briarcliff as well, with the punishments and the other treatments. Just thinking of what Lana had gone through turned a bile in her throat.

“She was hurt,” repeated an old, blond cop. His hooded eyes cast in the darkness of the interrogation room, set upon her young face and glared. It was an old technique, to make the other squirm – and it worked. “Did she put her ankle above your shoulder to stain your habit like that?”

Mary Eunice quivered, worried her bottom lip in a desperate attempt to make herself smaller, the ghost of an embarrassed chuckle escaping her lips. “N-no.”

“Then how do you explain the blood on your neck? Or down your legs? Did her foot get stuck beneath your chaste habit?”

The series of questions was like a bandwagon of bad news – she was terrible at deflecting. Barely managed to deflect Sister Jude when it mattered, or Dr. Arden. Lying through her teeth to a police officer was something she had never wanted to check off her to-do list. Frankly, she had never even considered it.

 _Thou shalt not lie_ , ordered the Bible. But the Bible was not her, it would not do anything to protect Lana Winters and it certainly did not hardly matter to it whether it lived or died as long as its friend was alright.

“I—,” she stammered, flinching at the slightest tick of the other police officer’s pen. The muffled scratch of the tip drawing words on the paper was not a comforting sound in the otherwise silent room. It was eyrie. “She had blood on her – for the wound!” The last words, she rushed to say in a haze. “The wound made her unable to walk alone. So- When I embraced her to help her up the stairs – I got stained as w-well.”

The copper scoffed, whispered something to the other. Her eyes trailed after the circles tracing the air as the second officer scribbled something down his reports.

“What about your legs?”

Mary Eunice tilted her head to a side meekly. Shame washed over her like a plunging wave. “I peed myself,” she admitted in a small voice, nearly hoping the words hadn’t been heard.

A chuckle rose from the other side of the table, its sound cruel. Her desperate, blue eyes met darker ones, held the gaze pleadingly – the glint in the opposite eyes prevailed, however and the man questioned with a smirk, “Can you repeat, please?”

It was taunting, torture. _Lana has gone through worse, I’m sure_ , she chastised herself, the reminder pulled her out of the deep water and onto the shore. The waves still washed over her, still knocked her off her feet, but it was easier to endure when she knew she had no right to complain. “I peed myself, when Dr. Thredson- _Bloody Face_ cornered me in a- a room. The one where you found him.”

“And blood came down the pee-hole?”

 _They don’t even care about Bloody Face._ “No, I am on – it’s my lady business.” A quipping sneer drew on the cops’ faces and she averted their gaze, looking down in shame, staring at her bony, red fingers. “I needed to use the restroom, but I also wanted to find Lana—.”

“So you knew she was there and yet you didn’t call the police?”

“No – That’s not- I didn’t know where she was,” she attempted, her cuffed hands waved in the air, “I feared the worst – and- or hoped for the best. But I could feel her there—.”

“Are you _psychic_?”

“No, but the Lord is always with me. I felt her soul, trapped within those walls. Believe me, _please_.” With that, she found her tongue tied, unable to continue. A knot tied in her throat, closing those tight walls and not allowing any more sound to come out. She choked, whimpered slightly, feeling useless. The memory of Lana begging her to take her into Death scratched her memory, squeezed her heart.

The two cops regarded her menacingly for a few seconds, then turned to each other, murmuring for at least a minute. Their judgement reeled in the air, wobbled her chin. Not even the image of Lana pulled her off her high, calmed the anxiety surges. She wished she could simply walk out and talk to Lana immediately – hold her tight, take all the sorrow Bloody Face and Briarcliff had given her away from her, kiss the wounds.

In the end, they let her out with only a few additional questions, clearing out that they would await further judgement from other testimonies, such as the ones of the two most probably victims of the crime – Dr. Thredson and, oddly enough, Lana.

It warmed Mary Eunice’s heart, that the men did not cast Lana away into a corner – or closet – but the thought of Dr. Thredson lying his way through testimony churned the anxiety through all the most sensitive places of her being.

Only when she came out of the interrogation room and fell against Lana’s wobbly frame did she breathe out freely. Her hands combed through the slick hair, tugged at it softly, then trailed lower, at the tense nape of her friend’s neck. Slender fingers stroked Lana’s fuzzy blanket and balled tightly around it in an attempt to hold the woman as close as possible. The journalist matched the vigor, fisting her hands in Mary Eunice’s hair and relying her weight on Mary Eunice’s chest trying not to yelp out in pain because of her ankle.

Even the reek of piss, blood and sweat could not tear the young nun apart from her friend, her anchor – but the strong hand of a police officer dragging her away to lay her down a chair could. A command was spoken but she turned a deaf ear to it – lips moved, but her vision blurred.

It was like a breaking dam, then. How she hadn’t cried during the interrogation, she was not sure. Tears had trickled down her puffed cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the flood that came from being severed from Lana, again. Her body tingled, itched to break down that door and offer the woman a warm body to lie upon during confession.

Lord only knew how much Lana would need it.

 _Lord_. She prayed to him. Dedicated all her prayers to Lana, for Lana. Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s rolled off her tongue in a desperate haze. What the monster had done to Lana, the young nun did not know, but Lana had been wishing for Death – and so Lana begged the Lord to take the sorrow away, give it to her. Like Simon from Cyrene, she would take the cross from her Jesus and carry it until it would break her back.

If only the Lord allowed it.

But Lana’s confession lasted shorter than Mary Eunice had expected it to.

Indistinct shouts rose in the locked room, reverberated in the halls, turned heads towards the door with peaked interest; a weeping woman dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief and glanced at the door with curiosity; a handcuffed and beaten-down young, black man interrupted his scabbing and fumbled in his seat; Mary Eunice’s head perked up, rosary nearly dropping to the floor.

The door unbolted with a loud crack. “—I’m taking the nuns with me whether you like it or not!”

“Ma’am, please, they are here only for breaking and entering, they will be out tomorrow evening—.”

“ _No_ ,” snarled Lana, her unruly air winding up along with her sharp movements, shaping up like a lion’s mane; locks of hair shone golden in the light of the waiting room. “They have Holy Mass tomorrow and their husband is Jesus, do you really want to piss Him off?”

Mary Eunice widened her eyes at the question, promptly copied by the police officers, whose jaws slacked; they loosened their grips on her forearms. “We don’t mean that – this is a police station we—.”

Lana did not relent. Though shorter than both the cops, she stood tall above their frames, her chin up and her large eyes fixed upon their meek faces challengingly. Her ire sparked an unknown feeling in Mary Eunice, one she could only place between confusion and approval. “And I’m asking you: do you want to have God’s disapproval upon you?”

“Miss Winters, please, we will have to handcuff you—.”

“Let go of me. You can check on them _tomorrow_ if you wish, but after Mass,” she fumed, effectively freeing herself from their grasp after a bit of wriggling. Limping on one foot, Lana closed the distance to Mary Eunice. Cold fingers wrapped around her habit and dragged her upwards uncomfortably, eliciting a startled a barely audible yelp. But Lana heard it and, gaze turning soft, she whispered, “I’m sorry. But I won’t let them arrest you.”

Mary Eunice bobbed her head, finding the strength to stand up and offer her arm of support for the journalist. “Thank you.”

“Miss Winters!” Insisted one of the cops, flailing one of his hands around as the other caught onto the gun at his belt. Mary Eunice eyed him pleadingly and promptly gasped at the sight of another cop – the bear-like cop from before – laying a hand on his chest, fisting the fabric of the uniform. A dazed look crossed the man’s features as the bear-like cop whispered something in his ear. “Alright,” he scoffed. “Bring back the other nun.”

The bear-like cop nodded, followed the order piously. Sister Jude’s annoyed face returned in a matter of seconds, her hung silhouette cast a dark shadow upon Mary Eunice’s wretched frame.

(Before taking her into questioning, the older nun had expressed some disappointment towards Mary Eunice’s behavior and it now hung in the air like a rope – one which Sister Jude had enough control over. Could tie around Mary Eunice’s throat if she stepped off her lane.

Of course she was grateful – the old nun had done her a great favor by going with her, but ever since that, the woman seemed keen on making the younger woman squirm with her glare.

It was as though Lana’s presence started a fire within Sister Jude – she did not seem to hate Lana, but rather the friendship that had established itself between the two women.)

“Alright, ma’am and Sisters,” the bear-like cop’s voice rang in her thoughts like a bell, shaking her out of her daze which she hadn’t even noticed she fallen in, “I will take you all back to Miss Winters’ house for the night and I will observe the house so that neither of you may be allowed to leave.”

“Ooh, a chaperone!” Mary Eunice’s eyes gleamed affectionately at Lana’s scoff.

“That’s very kind of you, officer,” the young nun offered instead, almost like an opposing force to the journalist. The latter rolled her eyes beside her, sighing theatrically; Mary Eunice giggled then slightly, the dimples on her cheeks deepening and quivering under Lana’s amused gaze. It set a fire in her heart like a match, spread it through her chest; the feeling of being so familiar with the journalist was nearly dizzying.

“Stop it,” hissed the older nun, making the younger one jump.

They did stop it, partly out of prudence and partly because they feared the conversation that might come between them if they found themselves alone together.

So they severed their embrace, distanced themselves a little. Sister Jude’s handcuffs were removed, a choice the officers most likely regretted as soon as the old nun glared at them darkly through her narrowed, brown eyes.

Through the halls and the cold, freezing breeze outside, they reached the bear-like cop’s car again. The streetlights shone low about them, illuminating the passersby; couples and some people going to private parties. It was Saturday, after all, so everything was lively; music hummed quietly in the distance, birds chirped continuously and non-stop chatter filled the street.

The sky was dark, black like a void, sucking her in with each taken step. Even the bear-like cop opening the car and the door for them appeared eerie in the darkness; only a part of him was illuminated, whereas the rest was cupped by the shadows, fearsome and cruel. Like the night pretending to be day, or a villain pretending to be good, half his face smiled encouragingly while the other scowled menacingly.

Sister Jude sat between them, chatted up with Mary Eunice out of kindness, but upon the young nun’s clear dismay, she took her rosary and counted the beads in lieu of prayer. She did not stop praying even when the car stopped. The police officer offered to pay for their pizzas, and though Mary Eunice wanted to decline the kind offer, Lana jumped right onto the hook, even engaging the bear-like cop in a murmured conversation.

Every second spent away from Lana felt like torture; when they unlocked the house and Lana nearly fell to her knees, Mary Eunice yearned to comfort her, but was pushed by Sister Jude towards the bathroom. It pained her to be there with Lana and not to be able to make the woman feel any better – if Lana clutching at her own heart while staring at a picture of Wendy was not sign enough of sadness, the woman outright dabbing tears was.

She did offer a tentative hand, extended her fingers to caress the woman’s shoulder, pat at it a few times, but even in the darkness of the house, Mary Eunice could sense Sister Jude’s glare upon her back. Quickly, absorbed by a darkness she dreaded to enter in the first place, she entered the shower.

Fingers scrubbed off the crimson, dry blood off her hands, a wet cloth covered in body wash slid between her legs and rubbed off the stink of period and piss. There was a nearly full shampoo that she used in limited amounts, scraped the blood and dirt off her scalp and hair – some sticks and leaves, too.

But she didn’t feel any cleaner. There was an undeniable fear and anger within in, anger towards what had happened to all of them, fear at the prospect of it happening again. Was there an end to suffering?

Getting out of the shower nearly blindfolded, Mary Eunice slipped not once but three times; bumping against the wall and slipping onto the floor, she yelped. A series of prayers fumbled from her lips as she helped herself up only to slide again and hit the edge of the sink.

“Are you alright?” The clatter brought Lana to her doorstep, whose worried expression colored fast with a bright blush as her eyes dropped to the young nun’s naked body – the color unseen in the shadows, but the affection shown by the woman grappling onto the wall tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” assured Mary Eunice. It embarrassed her that the first words they had shared in the house were these, willed herself to erase the idea from her mind, imagining a quite more interesting one.

Just as the silence stretched into uncomfortable, Lana hit her own head with her hand and through a mumbled ‘I forgot!’ she limped to her bedroom and back. On her palms lay folded clothes. _Of course_. “I thought you might like to wear black – since it’s kind of like your habit. And, well – I don’t know if my skirt will fit you, it might be a bit too short.” Lana worried her bottom lip, sighing loudly. “Honestly, if you prefer W-Wendy’s clothes – that’s okay. I can give you something more decent. Or pajamas! Why did I not think of pajamas?”

Wrapping a blanket that she found on the wall around her middle, her small breasts orderly covered, the young nun didn’t hesitate to put a hand on Lana’s shoulder. “Shh,” she whispered, stroking the fabric of Lana’s gown absentmindedly. “I’ll be alright. Take a shower yourself.”

Neither before nor after Lana washed herself, the lamps were turned on. Mary Eunice perked up at the idea of candles, instead, helping Lana shimmer through her shuffles to look for them. Fluttering, warm light danced upon their faces and cast upon their glistening, wet hair.

They did not speak again, however, until dinner arrived, only exchanging a few glances and sharing intimate touches. The burning gaze of Sister Jude at the slightest of their interactions halted her from leaning against Lana’s frame more than once. Like a hound watching over her sheep, Sister Jude stopped them from getting off course.

“I have never eaten pizza,” admitted Mary Eunice in a small voice, trying to cut the tension; at Sister Jude’s scrutinizing gaze, she bit her tongue, willing the words to dissipate in the air and go unheard. Her breath hitched in her throat, expecting a humiliating silence to stretch. But sweet, genuine Lana placed a hand upon the young nun’s lower back, releasing the tension.

“But you will eat it now, right?” Lana questioned, with a small, hopeful smile grazing her lips.

Torn between two powerful forces, Mary Eunice eyed the older nun worriedly. _Indulgence is a sin,_ reprehended a voice much like Sister Jude’s, the stern tilt to it tying a knot in her throat. “I—.”

“It’s alright,” scoffed Sister Jude, waving her hand in the air, as if to chase flies away. “You can indulge sometimes, Sister.”

It was easy to indulge. At her first bite, the taste of cheese, sauce and bread melted in her mouth as if she had eaten pudding. Her stomach grumbled less with each bite, though it begged her to never stop eating. Like a famished dog, she ate half the pizza in a hurry. It tired her – thirst knocked her off her trail plenty of times, but she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days and pizza was like a feast for a king.

She almost felt unworthy.

Delicious as it was, her body refused to eat more than four slices. She belched, apologized and then quivered under Sister Jude’s glare. Pushing the plate away in the most modest way possible, she whispered, “I think I am full.”

With a soft, proud smile Lana laid a hand on her thigh and squeezed it. “For your first time, this wasn’t so bad.” A deep flush coloring her cheeks followed the statement and she used her free hand to cover her mouth. Fearing the worst, Mary Eunice widened her eyes and moved closer. Under her worried gaze, Lana waved her hand and mumbled, “It’s- Nothing. It’s sweet your mind didn’t go anywhere.”

Mary Eunice tilted her head to the side, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

“Mine unluckily did,” reprehended Sister Jude, startling Mary Eunice; she jumped away from Lana as if she had been scorched.  Admittedly, the young nun had forgotten the older one was even there. As if pitying her reaction, the old nun stood up. “I’ll go to the kitchen, now. Might stay there a while.”

The tight embrace of awkwardness did not lessen its hold on the two desperate women even when Sister Jude left. It was their first time alone, together, in a non-threatening environment, simply enjoying a meal. It was overwhelming.

Under the bright glow of the moon through the open blinds – courtesy for the police officer who had to stalk them – and the warm flicker of the candles, they sat still like a painting. Two unmoving figures, twitching and worrying their bottom lips ever so slightly it was minimal, barely noticeable, the brushes of the painter slightly uneven where their bodies touched.

Lana’s hand had not left its position on Mary Eunice’s thigh, its warmth sending tingles through the blonde woman’s entire body, like electricity, but much more pleasant. Comfortable and uncomfortable mingled together in the stillness of the act, relief flowing through Mary Eunice along with jolting sparks of worry.

Through the silence, Lana sparked up and tore her warm hand from the other woman, announcing, “Music! I should turn on some music!”

Soon, an oddly confusing sound of radio music filled the room – it was some new song that Mary Eunice knew nothing of. It honestly sounded a bit off, as if it could only be appreciated by young people. But it did ease some tension, for when Lana sat down and whispered, “He killed Wendy,” Mary Eunice did not move away, but rather grabbed the older woman’s hands between hers.

 _I knew he did. I could sense he did._ “Do you want to talk about it?”

Fleeting panic flashed in Lana’s eyes, but she did not squirm in Mary Eunice’s grasp. Sighing, she murmured, “Yes, I should. I brought it up, after all. And I trust you. But I just—.”

“I know. It’s hard.” She offered a comforting smile, one of her hands coming up to cup Lana’s cheeks, her fingertips grazing the hollow skin slowly. “I don’t expect you to tell me anything you don’t want to. Actually,” she sucked in a deep breath, “I could speak first, if that will make you feel comfortable.”

The older woman appeared positively awestruck, her eyes filling with tears as she nodded quickly. “But the same goes for you, you know? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable at my expense.”

 _You’d deserve it_ – she bit back the thought and smiled warmly. “No. I want to talk about it”

Images of Dr. Arden sprang in her mind, imposed themselves upon her. Despite the attempt to sound and look strong, tears welled up in her eyes. Something twitched between her legs uncomfortably and she shifted, smiling weakly against the hand that caressed her cheek. _I trust Lana_.

“Dr. Arden — you mentioned him in the car and I froze.” Lana acknowledged the statement with an encouraging smile. It fueled a fire within Mary Eunice, gave her the strength to speak. “It’s not because he was my friend. Or because he betrayed us – or not entirely.” She paused to breathe in deeply, a traitorous tear already slipping down her cheek until it caught on Lana’s thumb. “Do you remember when I told you I did not trust... you-know-who?”

Lana’s chin wobbled in response. “Do I?”

“Yes, well... I went to talk to Dr. Arden about it. I—I’m not sure what I expected.” Shame washed over her. _You should have known! Dumb, dumb, dumb!_ “I think I thought I could use his a-attraction to me as bait. I wanted him to look into it, talk to Thred—Bloody Face. _Him_. I thought if he did and he found nothing, I could breathe easily and not feel a bile churning within me at the mere thought of you leaving.”

She sighed, looking down at her hand still squeezing Lana’s. “But I was just being selfish. Honestly, I think I didn’t want you to leave.”

“But you weren’t wrong! He did turn out evil!” Lana rushed to assure, though her comforting smile was strained. _She’s trying to make me feel better, but she’s hurting._

“Yes. He did,” admitted Mary Eunice, “And I cannot begin to explain how sorry about that I am. I wish I could take all your pain away and just—you don’t deserve it. None of it.” Her index muffled Lana’s protest and she shook her head forcibly. “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t come in time.”

Lana tilted her head, her neck exposing from beneath her hair and Mary Eunice couldn’t resist the urge to slide her hand near the jawline. “But you did come in time. And you have no idea how grateful I am.”

“So am I.” She gulped, then. _I have to tell her the whole story. She deserves it._ Determination shone in her teary eyes. Like a camera her eyes only focused on one thing, the rest blurring: Lana. “But it’s not all of it. Dr. Arden—When I came to his office, he was in a terrible mood. I think Sister Jude might have been involved.” _Stop prolonging this_. “He tried to rape me.”

A look of horror crossed Lana’s features and both her hands immediately cupped Mary Eunice’s face, smearing any tear that might have fallen, though her own face was now bright and wet with her own tears. “I tried to shove him off. I puked on him when he—It stopped him. And well, I suppose you know the rest of the story.”

“To an extent, yes,” admitted Lana thoughtfully, then her expression shifted and her warm, brown eyes fixed upon teary, blue ones. “Mary Eunice, this is terrible. This—You’re so strong, that you managed to go and save me, even after _that_. I don’t think I could have.”

Mary Eunice shook her head vigorously, her hands gripping Lana’s shoulders tightly to convey her message better, “I know you would have.”

“You have great faith in me, Sister,” laughed her friend bitterly. “Mary Eunice. But I froze there. I killed Dr. Arden but it’s all a haze, a spark of ire I could not contain.” Choking on her own breath, the woman averted her gaze sadly. Mary Eunice could sense the tight, cold hold on Lana’s throat, wanted to ease all her pain, but she was helpless.

Suddenly, she felt the music changing. She didn’t know it, as she knew no songs altogether, but something about the song moved her, thrust her into action. And so, catching Lana’s hands on her own cheeks, she blurted, “Let’s dance,” surprising even herself.

_You don’t own me._

Lana’s laugh was filled with incredulity. “Really?” Her lips stretched into a confused smile that extended to her eyes. Beautiful, brown, teary eyes that gleamed in the yellow light of the candles. Mary Eunice’s heart yearned to always make the woman smile.

 _Forget the story, I can hear it all later_ , she thought, nodding vigorously. “Don’t you want to?”

Lana grinned, laced her fingers with the ones of her friend as they both rose from their seats. One arm circled from Mary Eunice’s shoulder to her back, warm fingers ruffling Mary Eunice’s damp hair. “I suppose I do,” she admitted, her hips swaying to the rhythm of the song.

The melody was sweet, though the lyrics were strong. Liberating. Cruelly befitting of their own situations. Mary Eunice could almost feel herself ripping her habit apart in a different lifetime to the sound of this song.

As Mary Eunice locked her hands on Lana’s hips, her pads digging into the soft skin, Lana, with mirth in her voice, asked her, “Aren’t you afraid that someone will see us through the window and think you’re a dyke?”

“No.” The answer came quicker than she expected it to, in a breathy huff. _I doubt they’d be wrong anyway_ , she thought, her eyes darting from Lana’s eyes to her lips then back. She grinned, all teeth and dimples. “Besides, it’ll be a two-way problem. And I’m already locked at Briarcliff, what does it matter?”

 _Locked_. She had never used that word to describe her life at Briarcliff, had always found being a nun liberating, freeing – the feeling of being close to God had always spread a warmth in her heart. But as she swayed to the rhythm of that song, its lyrics reminding her of all the times Sister Jude had displayed her as the sweet nun whom anyone could trust, the prime example of Briarcliff’s beauty – a farce, a ploy to infirm a false sense of security in the families; she did not feel free.

Briarcliff had locked her up as much as it had any other, but her prison had a nicer view and a larger sense of security.

A soft tapping at the top of her spine pulled her out of her musings. “You dozed off. I was saying you’re one of a kind,” whispered the older woman. Her right hand was now on her shoulder, her thumb slightly digging at the hollow of her neck – if her breath hitched, she did not care. “Thank you, for everything. I don’t think I could have smiled, ever, after her death, if it weren’t for you.”

“I live to serve,” she admitted and though it was meant as a quip, there was an underlying truth in it. As a nun, her life was serving others. If she was allowed to choose, she’d serve Lana for all eternity.

Lana smiled weakly, two giant tears escaping the corners of her eyes.

They had stopped dancing – she wasn’t sure when, but their hips were not swaying anymore and as another song hummed its soft tune around them, Mary Eunice found herself averting Lana’s gaze more and more to look anywhere else. All of this felt sweetly intimate and dirty.

The mention of Wendy had knocked Mary Eunice off a little, if she was to be honest. The thought of the woman being dead tore at her heart, it felt wrong. Somehow, in her mind she had made up a perfect world for Lana where the latter held Wendy close and forgot Mary Eunice.

Mary Eunice wasn’t sure how she felt about the role reversal. Being back within Lana’s arms, talking to her was what she had selfishly yearned for, but hadn’t God heard her _prayers_?

“It should have been me,” she mumbled, biting her lower lip as if trying to bite back the remark. Lana’s thumb on her chin released her lip softly as brown eyes gazed into hers intensely.

“No—.”

There was something breaking within her. Her fingers curled around the fabric of Lana’s sweater as if trying to fix her broken parts, mend them back together, but she wasn’t even sure what it was. “You deserve to be with her, not—.”

“ _No_ ,” insisted the older woman. Cupping Mary Eunice’s chin between her index and her thumb, she forced to woman to look straight into her eyes. There was a fire within them, spreading all the way to the young nun’s heart, eliciting a chant of one thought. _I love you. I love you. I love you._ “I love Wendy. But I would have never wanted you to die in her place.”

 _She’s lying_ , a dark voice seethed in the back of her mind. Her face leaned into Lana’s hand as she mewled lowly, her eyes screwing shut. An ugly sob left her mouth. She wasn’t sure why – but she hurt, all through her chest, a lump closing the tight walls of her throat.

Lana’s lips landed on her cheeks to stop the tears, her warm breath mingling with Mary Eunice’s.

_This is wrong._

“Ahem.”

The sound of Sister Jude clearing her throat made the two women jump and tear their tight embrace, like two deer caught in the headlights.

“Perhaps we should all go to sleep,” stated the old nun with a scowl and though it was said as a proposition, Mary Eunice knew it was an order.

She made for the couch, but before she could as much as turn around, Lana grabbed her hand. “Fuck Sister Jude,” she whispered, her mouth pressed against the shell of Mary Eunice’s ear. “The couch will be for her anyway. Sleep with me?” When Mary Eunice moved away a little, Lana rushed to add, “Only if you want it.”

The young nun looked down at their intertwined fingers and bobbed her head, smiled. “I want it.”

If the feeling within her heart was not right, she didn’t care.

 

\--

 

The timid light of a wakening sky peeked through the cracks of the tree-leaves and tickled Lana’s cheek warmly. It angled a round arch over the exposed skin of her neck, danced colorfully on her hair adding a golden gleam to it. Brushes of pink painted across her arm and flicked on her fingers, the latter balled up tight around the covers of the empty space near her.

Empty.

Every nerve in Lana’s body froze, her heart jumping to her throat. She spread flat on the bed in the hopeless attempt to find the woman. _Wendy. Where’s Wendy?_ They rarely slept apart, if ever. The bedsheets oughtn’t to be empty.

 _She’s dead_. The thought was like a punch to the chest, the knuckles digging deep holes in her heart. Of course, she was dead. How could she forget Wendy was dead? It was easier to, she supposed, in the warmth of her house, under the covers, on their bed. _Her_ bed. Nobody else would sleep with her anymore, hold her.

_Mary Eunice._

She groaned against the pillow, her nose scrunched up against the fabric stilling her breath. _Everything_ stilled. The air, the covers on her body, the chirping birds. Everything felt wrong. _They had decided to sleep together_ – on Lana’s side it had been a quite selfish decision, one made out of need of a warm body in the large bed beside her. Sleeping alone, while having become a custom at Briarcliff, was still very hard for her. And, of course, she would not have chosen anyone else, either. Sister Jude had been a choice after all, too, but between all the people in her life now, she’d always choose Mary Eunice.

And sweet, dear Mary Eunice, the kind nun had accepted to sleep with her, had even dared a smile. Oh, it had warmed Lana’s heart. _Where is she?_

Allowing herself to breathe in deeply a few times, she opened her eyes, turning around quickly. Her head spun, vision blurring and focusing on nothing and everything altogether. There, through her knotted lashes and the glossy eyes, she saw a shape, unmoving and dark, large in its essence. It looked like the devil, horns certainly oddly showing through her lashes, though they appeared distorted and low.

Her breath hitched, fear creeping into her bones and veins, flowing fast into the large vessels of her heart, which stimulated into it into a faster beat. She blinked several times, almost afraid of what might shape itself before her.

“Good morning, Lana,” said the shape, the shadows and angles finally revealing the face of Bloody Face, in all his smirking terror. His face, neatly-shaven face presented a bruise on his lip and his glasses were split like a spider-web, not newly, but they hadn’t been when they took him to the police station. A clean, large hand held a knife – and the knife was pressed to Mary Eunice’s throat, the blade touching the tender skin beneath the chin. He held her like at gunpoint, his free arm snaked around the young nun’s middle to hold her still, as her mouth was gagged with a sock.

Though Lana doubted it was needed in any way, given that the blonde woman was positively frozen, unmoving if not for the trembling, her tied hands playing with her rosary – a queer courtesy for the man to give her, allowing her to hold her beloved temple, its presence always providing some comfort, as if he almost pitied the nun in her delirious faith.

For only he held her Fate in his hands now, and God was far from merciful enough to save them.

A bile rose in her throat. “Good morning,” she whimpered, sliding on the covers to distance herself from that Devil, though her body itched to grab Mary Eunice first and hold her close, protect her. Hitting her back on the wall, her breath hitching, she extended her hand to her cabinet, on instinct, not even thinking exactly of _what_ she needed, but rather _how much_ she needed it.

Bloody Face’s laughter tore through her desperate thoughts like the knife he was holding to Mary Eunice. His free hand had now reached his pockets (his elbow poked Mary Eunice’s side painfully, the face of the woman scrunching up in a silent wail of protest) and she knew what he held even before he pulled it out. “Is this what you’re looking for?” He asked, her old gun held between three fingers, dangling dangerously near Mary Eunice’s chest.

“Oh, no,” she denied, flashing him a fearful smile. “I was thinking of you recently, actually.”

It was odd, how easily the man would eat up compliments and nice words coming from her. A confused smile danced across his pursed lips, his head cocking to a side. There was a glint of something in his large eyes, as well, a sort of understanding mingled with arousal, perhaps.

The last idea pulled strings around her heart, tied a knot in her throat.

Avoiding his gaze, she tried to free herself, then, of her bedsheets, their hold as choking and frightening as his tight grasp on Mary Eunice. She could not stand being strapped down anymore, the mere memory of Briarcliff’s straps holding her down flashing in her mind like an arrow shot to her heart.

Sister Jude used to truly enjoy torturing her. The old woman’s face imprinted herself in her mind, then, her mind briefly wondered where the woman could be, given that it would have been reasonable for the man to either knock her out, or kill her.

She could not find it within herself to care too much, however, her heart meekly yearning to find out that the old nun had been fried or shot or even strangled to death, her black veil covering her wrinkled, evil face. Anger had her fisting her hands on her covers, her ears turning deaf to his warning not to move.

“They let me go,” mused the man, a quipping smirk painting across his long and yet oddly round features, “They let me go, because they already have their guy.” _Kit Walker_. Of course. _He must have convinced the poor dude to confess somehow_. “The police want to get a warrant to search my house on Monday anyway, as if I haven’t cleaned it all already. That’s why I let you have that sweet little nice sleepover with Sister Dyke here,” the back of his knife-wielding hand trailed the outline of the woman’s jaw, hooking a finger under her ear. A whimper was heard from the young nun in response, her eyes welling up with tears. “And your stupid chaperone was also kind of in the way.”

Her eyes widened. “Was?”

“Oh, don’t worry. Your fag friend simply fell asleep.” Humming, he looked down at the woman in his arms. “So I decided to have some fun with this other fag here.”

Following his line of sight, Lana finally allowed herself to truly _look_ at Mary Eunice. Examine her features. She had a bruise on her cheekbone, red and purple; her upper lip was split deeply, a thick scab already growing on the wound. Something about her messy hair shaped nearly like a halo, her blue, pleading eyes, its corners filled with unshed tears, her glistening cheeks with tears already released and her pale, fear-ridden face made her appear nearly angel-like. With her mind's eye, she could easily picture her wearing a white gown – and she’d be her Angel of Death, again.

The thought settled low in her stomach, twisting her insides with a thick rope, squeezing and pulling. Mary Eunice associated with Death- _No_.

A new tear sliding down her cheek, the young nun whimpered, resulting in the man pressing the knife harder to her throat.

Anger boiled in her system and threatened to go off with a loud whistle like a kettle. She clenched her fists tighter against the covers, nearly digging her nails into her own palms. “Let her go and we can talk,” offered Lana, sucking in a sharp breath to calm down, though her eyes watered at the pained look on her sweet nun. She bit back her own tears, but her eyes followed the stream of those shed by her friend, their path short and quick. Painful. Scarring.

Each tear was like a wound carving its trail on the young nun’s face and though blood did not drench her youthful features, it felt like she had been drowned in it.

“How would that help me in any way?” Scoffed Bloody Face, his face twisting into a grimace. “No, I could have fun with her instead.” The knife resting on Mary Eunice’s throat twitched, sliding neatly across her pale, white flesh. As a thin trail of blood fastened down her neck, Lana couldn’t contain a scream. But the cruel knife only dug deeper, Mary Eunice’s eyes squeezing shut and contorting in pain. “Scream again and I won’t hesitate to slice her up before your eyes right here.”

“You want _me_. Let go of her, please.”

Bloody Face looked over at her thoughtfully, humming loudly. The backs of his fingers traced the exposed skin of Mary Eunice’s neck, his knuckled grazing over her jaw. “Her skin is very nice, though there are a bit too many self-inflicted scars about her back, actually.” Lana didn’t really want to consider how he knew that, the pizza returning back to her throat. “I might want it too.”

It made her tremble. Her hands tightened around the balled up covers tighter. At the back of her mind, she noted vaguely how her right hand still wasn’t as strong as her left, the scar on her flesh now a tinge of white and yet ever-present.

 _God, please, if you don’t care about me, at least care about her. Isn’t she your wife? You must care for her. She doesn’t deserve this. I let her into my house – she would have been safer at the station-._ She opened her mouth to offer an oral prayer as well, though to a different, less Holy individual, but his voice rang in the room once again, low – too low. It reverberated in her mind, like an echo.

“You’re probably wondering about the root of my... _passion_. Why I like taking skin so much – and human bodies in general.”

She grinned falsely, an army of still tear soldiers holding back from falling from the ship that her eyes were; she nodded. _I’d rather not know_ , she thought honestly, the mere idea of somehow understanding the monster rising another bile in her throat, its taste even more sour.

“Tell me,” she told him, however. If her voice fell flat on her words, he ignored it, nodding at her instead in acknowledgment.

Hooking an arm under Mary Eunice’s armpit to hold her steady, he offered a sort of visual demonstration, the gun-wielding hand tracing the outline of the young nun’s face with the back of his palm.  “My mother abandoned me to the System when I was little.” _Oh, mommy issues. Why does everyone keep having them around me_? “I hated it. The System. The foster families. And I hated her. You know, I don’t want much – I just want to understand the love that a mother might feel for a son. The touch of a mother’s skin, being fed by her,” his hand trailed now across Mary Eunice’s covered breasts – the young nun squirmed, pinching her eyes shut even tighter.

A strong urge to grab that knife and twist it into the monster’s heart overwhelmed her and left her nauseated. But it wouldn’t do. She would never be quick enough and it would only harm her Mary Eunice.

The look of pain, the blood trickling down her sweater; Mary Eunice was already being harmed. A similar knife to the one Thredson held stabbed her in the chest repeatedly, a warm pool of blood choking her.

“When I studied medicine I identified her corpse – can you believe? I know it was her. But the body was cold already,” he grimaced, averting his gaze. A sorrowful shadow cast upon his face, hooding over his glossy eyes. Sighing deeply, he returned to face her sweet nun. “I realized I didn’t like it.”

“Skin?” Sneered Lana, unable to contain the intrusion.

The monster glared at her, squared her from head to toe. With a heavy exhale, he continued. “No. Not exactly. I didn’t like the cold skin. It was so coarse – so wrong. I wanted something warm, something that could replace the years I’d lost without the love of a mother. A kid should never live without a mother, you see.” _Some mothers are better left unknown._ “None of those women I took with me, however, were good enough. None of them. They didn’t have the vein, the motherly love, instinct. Perhaps they didn’t have the nerve?” His gaze fixed with hers, then, thoughtfully. The gun-wielding hand dug its knuckles deep into the hollow of Mary Eunice’s chest, almost provocatively. “But then I saw you and oh, I thought you’d be perfect. Untouched by man.”

 _Just like Mary Eunice_.

“Just like her. Maybe she’ll be as perfect. Oh, I have great plans for you two,” he laughed, the dark sound raising the hairs on her body. “Get up, slowly,” the monster added.

The journalist did not find the strength to fight the order, her bottom sliding easily on the rumpled covers and off the bed. Bare feet touched the cold surface of the pavement; her breath hitched. The floor freezing and curling her toes made her glance over to the sweet nun’s side, whose feet were just as bare.

It froze her heart, settled an uncomfortable feeling in her chest, the thought of her friend being abused like this. Even more now. _How long has she been standing like this? Oh, why didn’t I wake up sooner_? She decided then – she would free Mary Eunice in any way she could, even if it killed her.

 _Maybe I’ll rejoin Wendy then_.

“What are the plans?” Voice and stance cocky, she eyed him with a sort of challenging glint in her teary and yet resolute eyes. She sniffled, hard. Tears wouldn’t fall anymore. Determination fueled her veins as she calculated the perfect route to jump right in – if she pushed the bed, somehow, she could distract him quickly enough for him not to shoot his gun and release Mary Eunice; she’d grab the gun afterwards and kill him.

If there was ever a person who deserved Death, it was surely him, after all.

“I would prefer it to be surprise.” Upon her pleading gaze, her small pout of lips, he sighed. “I still have to decide which of you two will be more appropriate to be fucked by me longer. What do you think?”

She twitched, her hand grabbing onto the wall to ease her painfully throbbing ankle. “I don’t have an opinion.”

The monster chuckled. “You always have an opinion.” His wet, ugly, red tongue licked his lips. She followed the motion in disgust, her nose scrunching up and her hands clenching into fists. “I think it would be you, Lana. And as you know, I will kill your precious nun before your eyes. I would have let you fuck her before, but you’ve caused me enough trouble being dykes together to buy me a lifetime of treasures.” He tsked, his free fingers pinching the side of the nun’s chin. “I will make you watch _me_ fuck her instead, into unconsciousness and then I will skin her. Make some nice furniture for us.” He paused dramatically. “Do you like that idea?”

Lana shook her—,

 _Cough_.

It came from the living room, that much was sure, but Lana didn’t let herself dwell upon it, nor distract her.

Seizing the fleeting opportunity in a firm grasp, she jumped right onto the pair, grabbing the man’s gun-wielding arm. She twisted it to point it better against the man, but his hold was strong.

In a blurry haze of pictures, clothes, soft flesh, rough flesh, like a croak in the forest a gunshot was heard.

 _But I wasn’t even near the trigger_.

A lump formed in her throat, but as Mary Eunice moved away from the monster, she exhaled easily, releasing a breath she had held in panic.

(A creeping fear still held onto her back.)

There, on his white shirt, just above the hip, the crimson ichor was staining the fabric quickly, sliding into the cracks.

Staggering backwards and fighting hard for balance, Bloody Face fell like a sinner before his creator, his knees bent facing different directions, a hand on his bleeding hip and another, still holding the knife, pointed towards the woman who put him in such position. His hand trembled, weak and he coughed, but there was fierceness in his large, brown eyes, anger – one she had never seen before. It oozed off his being with the liquid and yet there was more to spare within.

Despite it all, she laughed, turning a deaf ear to his accusations and warnings. Menacing words fumbled from his red mouth as three people entered the room and she stared at him almost blindly – she had her eyes open and she breathed as freely as she ever could, but she could not see.

Even when the women – Sister Jude aided by Shelley and Grace, two women she hadn’t seen in God knew how long – tackled the monster and pulled him away, all their eyes set on him and Lana, she did not move, frozen in this one spot. Waves whooshed in her ears, the sound calming and yet pulling. It sucked her within.

A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her ocean of thoughts and grounded her. “I caught him on tape, saying all those things.” _Oh, I could kiss you_! She gaped like a fish, the old nun appearing like a vision, an angel. “I told you I’d make you trust me.”

“Y-you can try to get them to arrest me all you w-want. But they won’t believe you,” his voice wasn’t as weak as the journalist wanted him to be. “How could they tell it was me in that tape, huh? And that’s beside the point. I’m duh-deranged. Psychotic,” he shook his head with a cold laugh, “the most they’ll do is send to a psychiatric ward where I’ll just keep doing what I do. And I will get out, I always do, and then I will kill your precious friend—,”

She didn’t let him finish the sentence. Another gunshot resonated in the room, a bullet hole carving in his forehead and through his skull.

As if she had grown wings, she suddenly felt like flying, the chains on her ankles finally feeling completely gone. Destroyed. Unlocked forever. She was happy, in a way, though happiness didn’t really cut it. Relief flooded her, but it was not drowning. Instead, she felt as though she had finally learned how to swim through the storm and had been thrown on the shore.

The knock on the door reverberated through the calm silence they had all fallen in and she moved to open the door almost in a daze. But a faint groan interrupted her.

Her heart jumped to her throat, like a premonition. Fearfully, she turned to the side.

The entire world crumbled then. Like Atlas forced to hold the entire weight of the world who fell to his knees under the struggle, she crumbled to the floor as fell, dropping to catch the frail nun between her arms. For there, on the floor, lied Mary Eunice, in a pool of her own blood, a large wound in her lower abdomen; a crimson spot dampened her side, spread onto the fabric of her clothes, trickled down everywhere.

How she hadn’t noticed was beyond her. It choked her, the feeling of utter uselessness.

_How did I not see this sooner?_

She grabbed the woman weakly, pulling the trembling body onto her lap, as if she could put the wounded woman together if only she held her wound closed for long enough. Fumbling and crying, her vision blurring to all but Mary Eunice, she broke her promise not to cry anymore. The blood flowed between her fingers incessantly, like a waterfall. It tickled, the warm liquid scalding a fierce anger and sadness in her chest and expanding everywhere, shaking her arms and heaving her breath.

A hand hooked under her side, pads digging deep into the soft flesh, as another removed the spit-stained sock from the nun's mouth. It barely eased Mary Eunice's breath, only released a contained cough.

The morning light of the window did not cast upon anything but her sweet friend's hair, the golden locks flicking and reflecting on the walls; the rest was immersed in an ominous shadow, dark, only the blood glistened bright like amber.

“Please, Mary Eunice, please, don’t die,” she begged, sobbing the words brokenly, her wobbling chin impeding her from conveying her own emotions. Her glossy eyes fixed with glazed ones, narrowed and small, nearly closed, though they fluttered open ever so slightly at Lana’s voice. Slender fingers caressed the bloody cheek leaving even darker stains. “Please, please, I can’t do this without you, I beg you.”

The young nun coughed, a drip of blood trickling down her chin. She grinned, her cheeks twitching from the effort. Angel. “’T-true friends are moved by such mutual devuh-devotion, that when necessary... th-they are willing to sacrifice their lives fuh-for each other’,” she cited softly, her constant coughs impeding her slurred speech.

 _But we are more than friends, we should live for each other_ , lamented Lana in her head, the knot in her throat tying tighter with each passing breath. Tears now streaked down her face incessantly, without a pause. She couldn’t see, but did she want to? Her beautiful, sweet nun, so close to Death? _She is the Angel of Death, she cannot die_. “The Bible?” She choked out finally. Her fingers hovered over the woman’s lips, tracing the line of blood and cleaning it, as if freeing the way for Mary Eunice’s response.

“No,” the young woman shook her head weakly, the ghost of a weaker smile now grazing her trembling lips. Similar to Lana’s own tears fell into her agape mouth, but it was as though she could feel nothing. The struggle to even reply cost her more than anything ever had. “Dante Alighieri, Purgatory.”

Despite herself, Lana chuckled softly. Love swelled in her chest, but it was merged with fear and sadness and the journalist hated it with a burning passion. How could love be as terrible? As cruel? How could it give so much and then take it all in a matter of seconds?

_Why does everyone around me die? I am cursed. I should love nobody anymore._

As Mary Eunice began to close her eyes, Lana squeezed her cold cheek. “No, please, don’t close your eyes. Don’t close your eyes.” But it was to no avail. Blue eyes fluttered open to land on hers, but they shut just as quickly. It tore a gap in her soul, wrenched her. She wrung her fingers deep into Mary Eunice’s side, cradled her near. She sobbed, shook and screamed, but the woman in her arms slowly faded into limper trembles and coughs.

_God, do you truly hate her so much?_

God gave her no answer, not even when the ambulance grabbed the woman away from her, forced them apart.

 _God, are you as evil as to tear her from this world? Or are you helping her, perhaps, for she has suffered enough and deserves a place in Heaven near you_? She wept, and wept _. I do not know you and I do not pray, but please, please, don’t let her die._

The sirens wailed near her as she stumbled onto the ambulance. Some figures attempted to keep her aside, pushed her away, but she laced her fingers with Mary Eunice’s and held her tight.

_Please, don’t make her a real Angel. She doesn’t need wings to be one, I promise. I love her as she is._

 

\--

 

A searing pain in her lower abdomen, its warm hands twisting _something_ inside of her, sending jolts through her entire body, awoke her. She was nearly paralyzed, a breath caught in her throat in an almost scream; she twisted uncontrollably but without choice, her body unresponsive to willing action – the constant movement worsened the pain. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut, and tears watered them like plants, streaming down her cheeks like waterfalls. A guttural moan escaped through her teeth, the latter biting onto her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

The more her chin wobbled, the larger the lump in her throat grew. She couldn’t breathe, the air caught inside. Nausea washed over her along with dizziness, any food that she might have eaten now returning to her throat in an acidic bole. The heels of her feet dragged on the sheets beneath her, snaking upwards along with the pain, increasing it.

Through wet lashes forcing herself to open her eyes, assess the situation, she saw nothing. Every breath that caught in her throat, every slight twitch in her body sported dark blots before her eyes. The tears blurred her sight as well, the waterworks not subsiding for a second.

 _It hurts_ , she thought, a small pout drawing on her wobbling lips, chin raised high to stare at the blotted ceiling. _Where am I? I’m afraid._

A hospital, of course.

As if driven by a force unknown to the rest of the body, between grunts and whimpers that must have cut through to anybody if there was anybody to listen, her hands managed to move a little. Her eyes widened through the pain that came with trailing her hand on the silk sheets, her fingers too weak and numb to wrap around the soft material as a lifeline.

It was as though a blinding light had flicked before her when her head turned on the pillow beneath and she saw the slouched body of her sleeping friend, her Lana. _No, not mine_. She extended her palm to the journalist, a mewl sneaking through her parted lips, the blood’s taste on her tongue, but something stuck to her wrist stopped her. Though she couldn’t look down, the mere thought thrusting into her head like a knife, she could feel the needles pinching her sensitive skin.

_Lana, I’m scared._

Everything was on fire, everything hurt. There was no peace in this storm and yet it felt like Death. But oughtn’t Death to be peaceful? Shouldn’t she be smiling, waving at her beloved? The most her hand could do was trail above her hip and upon her mournful wound, the blood sticking to the tips of her fingers and scalding her with its warm essence, as fiery as the pits of Hell.

Perhaps that was why she wasn’t at peace. She was succumbing into the flames, the Earth opening underneath her and claiming her frail soul. Had she done no good? Or was it not enough?

It appeased her, in a way, to know she hadn’t been wrong – about her lack of chances for Heaven. Though she had prayed to Him an endless amount of times, all that she had done in the past was now ready to bite her, and who was she to fight that? Satan could take her now, she’d deserve it.

A much more conscientious tear trailed down her scalded cheek and onto the pillow, as a loud beeping noise became a background to her sharp intakes of air, raspy breaths coming in short and quick. All else shut down, any murmur that came, she could not identify it. Instead, she saw Her.

Shachath. The Angel of Death.

In a pale, gleaming light she appeared, standing in a halo of goodness and kindness. As pale as all the previous times, her red lips stretched into a sweet smile – and just like all the other times she came, her presence brought peace upon her and offered comfort. There was a glint of pity, too, in her gentle, pale eyes. So unlike the ice they resembled, they spread warmth in her chest and expanded it into her whole body.

Mary Eunice didn’t feel like she deserved it – the peace.

“Oh, sweet child,” spoke the candid voice; like honey dripping from a spoon did she dribble warmth in her soul, almost opposed to the cold that came with Death. “Don’t worry so, I am here to take it all away.” Gloved, slender fingers ghosted over her flesh – not touching but nearly so. “Do you want me to take it all away?”

Mary Eunice’s chin wobbled; she leaned against those fingers, seeking their comfort. Other hands worked on her frantically as well, but she felt like an outsider to it now. They were intrusive and abrasive and they cared not for how she might react, but only worked to save her.

Did she want to be saved? Could she truly expect herself to come back to an empty shell of a life, now? It hurt too much.

The wound was not merely physical. Seeing _him_ die had had the opposite effect on her than she would have wanted it to: seeing the flesh tear apart and the blood pool on the wooden floors had only stained her soul further. For she loved Lana and the stains in Lana’s soul were like a virus, the tiny hands grasping onto her as well.

No, she did not deserve their salvation.

Her spirit could not watch their slow and yet too quick actions; she concentrated on the other spirit instead, as though succumbing to it. She felt like one with it, now, standing aside and untouched by all that passed. Time was a concept and reality crumbled, tugged only by one individual.

But it was clouded.

“I have a question first, Angel,” she admitted, her azure eyes locking with the pale ones of Shachath.

“Ask away, my dear.”

“Lana.” If there was one thing stopping her from Death’s warm embrace, it was her. She was there, talking to those other people, hazy and worried. “I know I’ve asked this before,” a wavering smile drew on her lips, small and sad, “but what will happen to her if I die?” _I don’t want to leave if it hurts her, but what if my life, my existence, is worse?_ “Am I better to her dead or alive?”

The Angel sighed deeply, though there was no air in her body. Just like the warmth that came from her sight, opposed to the breeze of Death, the air that filled her lungs could not but be a mere reflection of human’s existence, a mirror, for an ethereal being could not but be alive and dead altogether and therefore live without breathing. “Dear, it’s not my place to know.”

“I _know_ ,” insisted the young nun – was she nun for much longer? Would she stay a nun in Death? “But I don’t want her to hurt.”

Shachath bobbed her head in a thoughtful acknowledgement. “I don’t know what comes after your Death. And... she doesn’t seek me, _you_ do. You called for me, because you’re afraid, because you’re hurting and some part of you wants to leave. But I cannot tell you whether it is the better choice or not.”

A knot tied in her throat and wrung its fibers into her sensitive flesh; she gulped, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. As if on the edge of an abyss, they wavered there, their only lifeline being her firm refusal to close her eyes, now. If she did, they’d crumble and she with them.

What was she supposed to do? Could she be selfish, and simply abandon all the pain that existence brought with itself, abandon Lana? The woman had gone through so much, had killed a man for her, shot a bullet through his skull – could Mary Eunice throw that all away?

 _Unless_. Unless her Death absolved Lana of her sins. Unless Death brought peace. Unless she begged God to save Lana, at least, save her soul. She could live – _die_ – with being Lana’s savior.

 _She deserves someone to be with her right now_. The thought knocked on the doors of her mind, echoing in the halls and projecting back. Fists clenched, bent under the force of the mantra in her head and she released a preparatory breath. _Dear Father, please, lead me towards the right path_.

Like that night she had broken down and gotten a beating for Lana, she needed to think now, too, go astray – or go forward? Lean off this high ledge – or continue walking.

Or let somebody else do it all for her.

“Angel,” she whimpered, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Her thumb stroked the outline of her palm, leaning hard against the covers. The absence of the rosary strongly registered within her; she missed the buds wringing into her flesh, drawing _feeling_ , pulling her towards reality, stability. “I just want to make Lana happy.” The admission was like a stab in the chest – the pity in the Angel’s eyes was another. She rushed to elaborate, “She deserves to be happy, yes – but not with me.”

Shachath nodded, catching Mary Eunice’s lone, streaming tear with the back of her index. “Do you want me to take you away, then?”

Mary Eunice shook her head. Her eyes skimmed from the doctors working to save her life and landed on Lana’s desperate face. There was pain in the wrinkles circling her eyes, in the bags under her eyes, in her fingers laced almost in prayer, in the tears that relentlessly streamed down her face. She stood back, away from the chaos, not restrained by any physical barrier, and yet far enough to be a simple spectator. As pale as the walls and as small as the young nun’s grasp on reality.

“Wendy would make her happy,” whispered Mary Eunice, not exactly to the spirit. Her tender blue eyes locked with Lana’s brown ones, but there was no flick of comprehension in them – she looked, but she did not see. “Oh, kindred spirit, can’t I make an exchange? If Wendy came back, she’d be happier.”

The old, black-clad woman moved a step back, regarding the sweet nun apprehensively. “Dearest, I can only take life, never give it.” A warm smile spread on her thin lips. “And it appears to me that it is not your time, yet.” She waved her hand to point at the doctors who were now stepping away from the young nun with almost relieved looks on their faces. “You are safe. Don’t take it for granted, dear.”

_What? What should I do?_

She twisted on the bed slightly, trying to reach for the Angel of Death, trying to bring her back in, but the woman disappeared like she had appeared – and left an empty shell of her presence in Mary Eunice’s heart.

As the doctors and nurses stepped away, she passed out from the commotion. Her eyes rolled back and she breathed out hardly, letting all the air that she had let bundle up within to just come out. But Lana’s cold hands on hers pulled her back into consciousness all too quickly, as if she had merely dangled on the rope of sleep and Lana had pushed her off it.

It took her a hot second to process that the other woman was speaking, as well. Though she saw her lips move, she was too mesmerized. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” _Sweetheart_? _This is new_. “Oh, Mary Eunice, I was so worried. Don’t do that again, please.”

In the gloomy atmosphere of the hospital, between whimpers and blips of the machines, tears glistened on the curves of Lana’s face. With each word she uttered sobbingly, the tears streamed as traitorous as the next, each marked their territory and stabbed Mary Eunice’s heart with guilt. How long had Lana waited, in pain, for Mary Eunice to wake up? Had her heart yearned for a comforting embrace as much as Mary Eunice’s own did now?

“Lana,” she breathed raggedly. The simple word filled with such sadness and love, it wrenched her from within. _I failed. I thought maybe I could exchange myself for her. Did you wait long for me to come back down?_ Trembling fingers stroked the bony ones of her friend, traced the palm thoughtfully. “Lana,” she repeated as their eyes locked firmly, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!”

 _No, I almost died_. Her teeth worried the scab on her lower lip, pulled it. _I saw how scared you were. Dear, don’t cry. I’m so sorry I made you cry._

Lana sobbed, shaking her head. Her hand now cupped the young nun’s face, holding her as if she was trying to hold onto the entire world with one hand. She was shaking so much that Mary Eunice could feel the vibrations even on her legs. Like a leaf, she was falling to the ground and the nun could not even hold her.

Relenting under the weight, the journalist sat down on the bed, continuously repeating words of reassurance. The soft of her skin dabbed any tear that fell from Mary Eunice’s desperate eyes, and though her presence on the bed heaved it and deepened the pain in her side, the younger woman could not help but not care.

Her eyes skimmed to the door of her hospital room, closed, separating her from society. The blinds on the windows were slightly open, the light peaking in shyly.

“How long was I out for?”

The woman recoiled from her thoughtful trance. “Well, it’s Monday already.” Remorse crossed Lana’s features along with a grimace. “You missed Mass because of me.” _Not because of you, never because of you_. “And you could have lost so much more, too.”

“ _No_ —.”

 “It’s my fault,” admitted Lana, averting her gaze when the other woman tried to deny it. “No, really. It is.” _Stop, please_. “I twisted his arm so that it pointed at you a- and, then the gun went off.” Her breath hitched and two large tears fell down onto the sheets of the hospital bed. “I could have killed you. I could have been the reason yet another person I love died.”

 _Love_. Despite the situation, Mary Eunice’s heartbeat sped up.

She ignored it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” reassured Mary Eunice. Sadness crawled into her being, empathetic sadness for Lana’s suffering. If her beloved suffered, then so did she. “Wendy wasn’t your fault. The Lord knows that. And He forgives you.”

“But I don’t.”

Sensing the other woman’s need to retreat immediately, Mary Eunice grabbed her hand tighter and smiled a watery smile. “Come here, lie down. _Hold me_. The world can’t just lie on your shoulders.”

Lana glanced at her confusedly, a sort of alarm going off in her brain. It sparked a warm feeling so unlike any other in the blonde woman’s heart.

As soon as the brunette laid on the covers and circled an arm around Mary Eunice’s painful side, a hand positioning itself on the hollow of the nun’s neck, Mary Eunice let out a breath, _sighed_. The older woman’s warm breath tickling her cheek was like being pulled back home, or onto the shore after months of fighting in the sea; the hooded eyes gazing at her, fixing themselves on all parts of Mary Eunice’s face spread love in her chest and expanded it.

Grunting, the woman propped herself on her elbow and like a maddened pirate throwing himself onto his treasure, her lips landed on Mary Eunice’s cheeks and forehead and chin and jawline. There was a message there, one the woman seemed afraid to say out loud.

And so Mary Eunice twisted her arms, freed one to hold the woman closer as best she could, grabbed onto her side with the other hand, dug her finger pads, squeezed and sighed in the tight embrace. Her fingers threaded through Lana’s wiry, oily hair, tugged on it slightly.

_I love you. Oh, I love you, I was so afraid._

“I was so afraid,” whispered Lana against her face, her nose brushing the soft skin of the young nun’s cheekbone; her lips brushed the edge of Mary Eunice’s, wet and inviting. “I was so scared, Mary Eunice. I couldn’t live without you.” Her slender fingers combed the blonde hair erratically, frenetically trying to hold onto the fragile frame. “I was so _scared_. I was so- I was—.”

_Wet._

That was the first thing Mary Eunice thought as she inclined her face towards the woman’s and interrupted her slurred speech.

She wasn't sure what gave her the courage – or perhaps there was no courage. Only leaping off a cliff and into the clouds, as free as the day she was born.

Her lips brushed the wet ones of the older woman and slightly parted, breathing out into them. The taste of salt mingled against her lips, the tears dampened her own flesh even as they pressed harder against each other, the water constantly streaming down. Her fingers dug deeper into the scalp, scratching the soft skin; a sigh escaped the woman’s parted lips as she succumbed into the kiss as well.

They moved against each other as if laying multiple kisses in one, not fully open to any further step and yet completely at each other’s mercy; too tired and too scared of it being a dream to part.

But they did part. _It lasted only mere seconds_. They parted for air then, and perhaps for a moment of clarity.

It didn't have to mean anything, but it meant everything. Even if she went through the rest of life without this, she would cherish it forever. It was salvation, love.

The ghost of Lana’s lips on her own still lingered even when the older woman reclined her cheek against Mary Eunice’s collarbone, her chin wobbling and tears smearing the young nun’s hospital gown. “I love you,” she murmured, the words muffled but understood if not only by the intent, and the shaky hand fisting the fabric. “I was so scared.”

Mary Eunice sighed; she tucked a stray strand of hair behind Lana's ear and prompted her to face her. She didn't want the words to go lost on the other woman and if the tension in Lana’s back was any indication, she was already stressed. “I love you, too.”

“But aren’t you afraid that—.”

“No.” With a firm gaze into the journalist's chocolate eyes, she smiled weakly.

What a sight they were: a blood-stained nun with no veil and no habit, cross or rosary to accompany her; blond, dirty hair sprawled on the pillow, her bony, thin, free arm locked under the other woman's armpit, and her slender fingers grasping at her friend's – _lover's_? – brown hair tenderly; and a scarred, frightened lesbian journalist half-propped on her elbow, the free arm laying on the nun's torso, all bones and scabs and _blood_ , and skinny fingers tightly holding onto her.

They were like lovers who'd survived the war.

The thought filled the nun's heart with giddiness, she giggled despite herself. When Lana regarded her curiously with a half-smirk, she bit her bottom lip.

“I love you,” repeated the blonde; Lana caressed the dimple on her cheeks and hummed. “I have never been surer of anything.” _Perhaps not even God; He'd understand._

“Well,” the older woman blushed under the loving gaze, “I want you to know that you don't have to do anything for me, if you're uncomfortable. You should only do what _you_ want.”

A hot, crimson color prickled the sweet nun's cheeks, neck and ears as her eyelids heaved down and her azure eyes fixed on those plump, wet lips. “M-maybe.” She felt like in a dream, staggering and unable to reach her goal. She gulped. “Maybe the only th-thing I want is _this_.”

This time, when her lips locked with the plump ones, she was ready for the surge of love that spiked in her chest, and yet it overwhelmed her just as much. Her lips parted, allowing and nearly begging the other woman to take some further action.

Blood fled her wound and sneaked south. Any pain was numbed. Any sound was deafened.

 _I could get lost in this_. _Dear Father, I am not sorry. Dear_ —.

“ _Mary Eunice_!”

Her hand in Lana's hair untangled itself and the older woman jumped away from her as if she had been scorched. Her heart sank at the loss, but more so at the sight of the old nun accompanied by the Monsignor glaring her down.

“We need to talk,” seethed the stern nun. “Miss Lana Banana, leave.”

“ _No_ , I won't—.”

“Miss Winters!”

The journalist cast Mary Eunice a pleading gaze, as if expecting her to step in and argue. But if her Superiors wanted a fight, it would have to be her own.

(She was a sinner, lost in the desert, speaking to the Devil Himself. But if sin tasted so sweet, she would never want to let go of it. If Satan was as inviting, could she blame anyone for following Him?)

“Go, Lana, I will talk to you later.” _I love you_. “I promise.”

 

\--

 

“That was the most reckless thing I’ve ever seen you do, Sister,” scolded the old nun, a hand on her waist and the other on the edge of Mary Eunice’s bed.

The Monsignor had left the room as well as Lana, allowing them a moment for themselves – though the young nun could tell the man would use the situation to interrogare Lana, which was the last thing they needed.

The idea clung to her heart and squeezed it.

Once upon a time she had trusted the Monsignor, but Dr. Arden had been trustful as well – until he wasn’t. There was nothing she could truly trust men with fully now. They lied, they took her for granted and simply hurt her. The sole idea of the devout, religious man twisting Lana's words against her and pinning her into an impossible situation made a bile churn in her stomach; like a child who has stolen goods for his family and now faces the consequences nonetheless, she lay and waited for a punishment bound to come.

It scared her, like most things, and more – she had been selfish and now the man could ruin it all for Lana.

Mary Eunice worried her lower lip nervously, her fingers clutching the covers tightly in the absence of her rosary – or her Lana. _Our Father, who art in Heaven..._

“Reply to me, Sister!” The young nun started, glancing over to the old woman with a melancholic light in her kind, doe eyes. “Why did you do that? In a public space, too!”

The young woman averted her gaze, looked down on her lower abdomen to regard the cloth-covered wound that itched and twitched under the reprehensive glare. She could not help the anxiety that spiked into her chest and hitched her breath, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

Why had she kissed Lana? Because she loved her, of course. More than she ought to, more than a woman should ever love another woman and above all more than a nun should ever love another person. It felt like stabbing God in the back and twisting the dagger deeper and deeper anytime she thought of the older woman, her soft smile, her bony hands and her dark hair. Lana, who had lost so much and managed to love nonetheless.

Could anyone truly deny her the right to love in return? ‘ _Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt. Love, which spares none of the loved from loving in return.’_

_Dante, once again._

But Dante had condemned those who loved the way she did to Hell, had pushed them deep. God, as much as he, must condemn her to the fiery pits of Hell as well, then. Must hate her, must have saved a grand punishment for her; a punishment unlike any of the beatings.

Even the cane upon her rear or the leash upon her back could not but be mere reflections of what the Lord would have in store for her, now.

 _I was so happy just a few minutes ago, happy enough to lie in her arms and lay my lips on hers. And here I am, squirming, regretting this. She doesn’t deserve this._ The fears and regrets battled a war in her mind, their swords and spears stabbing her in the most sensitive places of her being. _God deserves better as well_ , another voice reminded, _God judges you._

“Sister!”

Mary Eunice simultaneously shook her head and nodded. “Why did I—did I kiss her?” The older nun scoffed, bobbing her head and tilting it to a side. “Well—Sister, I am not going to lie. ‘Thou shalt not lie’. I cannot.” Tears brimmed over the edge and threatened to fall as she gulped thickly. “I love her.”

“ ** _Love_**! Oh, child,” Sister Jude sat on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the covers; she grabbed her hands and shook them pleadingly, “think of what you’re spouting! I know you have gone through an ordeal to save her,” bony, wrinkled fingers smoothed her gown eliciting a spark of pain to fly upwards and tie a knot in her throat, “and that you have developed feelings along the way, but it was very reckless of you to act upon them. Sometimes it’s better to leave things buried under the carpet, or locked in a closet. Miss Winters of all people should know what that means.”

“I don’t think—.”

“I don’t blame you, not really,” continued the old nun, relentless in her pursuit. There was a sort of ire in her eyes, mixed with compassion and pity. “Miss Winters – I have saved the woman over and over and there she goes and—.”

“No, stop, please!” Upon the flabbergasted expression on her Superior's features, she retreated into herself; her short fingernails punished her by digging into her palms. “ _I—I_ have forsaken my vows. I have abandoned the Lord. I do not deserve His grace, His kindness. It’s not her fault.” It made sense to frame it that way. She sighed raggedly, tears welling up further. “Yes. I want to be with her, and I am disgraced, but it’s not her fault. I _—I_ kissed her first. _I_ don’t deserve to be a Sister anymore. _I_ have sinned. _I_ am a _sinner_.”

The older nun chuckled mockingly. “If the order banished everyone anytime they sinned, we’d be an empty one.”

The young woman’s eyes widened in confusion. “I am afraid you have lost me there.”

“As I should have, a long time ago.” A dark light cast upon the woman’s stern features, gloomily hooded her eyes. She stood silent for a while, thoughtful, as if reminiscing a distant, painful memory. There was something solemn about it, about her light brown eyes facing the wall, the tears glossing them; she was like a king whose favorite subject had just forgone all his rules and decided to leave the country, abandon the teachings.

“What do you mean?” Mary Eunice asked timidly. Her chin wobbled in anticipation and she shivered in the chill of the morning, though she doubted it was a mere projection of the temperature.

Sister Jude glanced at her pitifully, shrugging. “I have kept you in my hold for too long – you were never meant to be mine, as much as a child is never meant to be their parent’s,” she admitted slowly. It slurred a bit at the edge as a sob hiccupped through. She looked frail, nearly broken by the admission. Lonely, as if the words had left her stranded in a desert without friends or air. “And yet I’m afraid there is nothing else I can do.”

Mary Eunice furrowed her brows. It felt like a backhanded apology, or compliment.

“What?”

“Mary Eunice, Sister,” the old nun exhaled with a grimace wrinkling upon her old, tired face. With the bruises still visible, she looked exhausted. “By kissing your dear dyke here, in a public space – by being caught by the Monsignor, there is no chance I could free Lana from Briarcliff now. Even if you are freed from the order – which I’m sure you understand that you will be – the woman will stay there. And perhaps you as well, but not as a Sister any longer.”

 _No_.

Mary Eunice’s heart sank. Everything crumbled beneath her. She stumbled though she was already lying. She fell, along with hot, giant tears streaming down her face and onto the pillows. A thick lump grew in her throat and tightened its hold on the walls with each quickly taken shaky breath.

Everything spun before her eyes, zooming in and out constantly, without avail.

_This can’t be. No. Oh, Lord, I am so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Such a dummy, dummy, dummy._

Yes, she had foreseen this to an extent, had expected a punishment, but lack of freedom? Again?

Her fingers grabbed onto the sheets even tighter, the white of her bones nearly popping out through the milky skin. She felt like spiraling. It was worse than succumbing into the cold hands of Death.

“I can try and make some accords, perhaps, but I can’t do much, Sister.” A warm hand upon her own slightly pulled her out of the waves and stabilized her. “Mary Eunice, I know this comes as a shock to you. It shouldn’t – you should have realized making out with a woman, while also being a nun, in a public space – would not have good consequences.”

“Yes _—._ ”

“Jail is the bare minimum and you’re lucky it was only us, part of the order, who caught you. Had the press found this out, it would have been the end of you – and us!” The tone was not accusatory – she was saying the mere truth. But her voice wavered with each word and the judgement seeped through, unwanted, intrusive. “Think of the Monsignor’s reputation. How terrible it would look if one of the best nuns turned out to be a _dyke_!”

“I—I’m sorry,” whimpered the frail nun.

Sister Jude scoffed, waving her hand, recoiling herself out of the judgmental haze. “No need. Don’t worry. I don’t like losing against men so of course if helping you means winning against a man, I will help you. But don’t count on me to aid you directly, oh no.” She locked her gaze onto Mary Eunice’s firmly, the strength of it casting a charm upon the young woman and forcing her to look on. “I have favored you and coddled you enough, Sister, but all the same, you would not deserve to be cast out completely.”

Mary Eunice tilted her head to a side. Perhaps it was the strength of the argument or the fear that rose goosebumps on her flesh at the idea of being separated from Lana forever that gave her the courage to trust the older woman. Her teeth pulled on the sensitive skin of her lower lip as she looked over the woman: she looked divine in the glowing light of the morning now casting freely through larger cracks; stern and judging, disapproving as any mother that has caught a child looking over forbidden magazines, she filled Mary Eunice's heart with a sense of peace, calm.

The crack of the hospital door opening to reveal the face of the Monsignor thrust her heart in her throat again and pumped a drumroll in her ears at the quickening pace of her heartbeat.

“Right, I will let you talk now, Father,” grumbled the sympathetic nun and, lingering a gaze upon the naïve blonde, she nearly floated out of the room with the same intensity of a breath of air being sucked out of a confined space, whooshing out and leaving everything empty in her wake.

For a moment, they observed each other carefully. Then, as if moved by equal and opposite, kinetic forces they simultaneously spoke.

“Good morning, Father,” breathed the sweet nun shyly as the Monsignor grumbled an equal greeting in kind.

His shoulders were tightly squeezed back, tense. There was a certain look of remorse at having to scold her, along with a different light to his brown eyes – ones so different in shape and warmth than Lana's, which harbored only love and kindness towards the nun. His didn't – though he was remorseful, a dark, dangerous light flicked there, its mere sight raising the hairs on Mary Eunice's back.

“You have sinned, Sister,” the Monsignor growled slowly, though a kind, encouraging smile graced his lips. He stepped closer to her, the cross on his chest facing her pale face. “Do you know what the usual consequences are for the sin of homosexuality?”

Mary Eunice shakily bobbed her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“Your habit should be burned, your ring removed from your hand as you have,” he paused to make sure she was listening clearly, “ _cheated_ on God. Do you realize that?”

Again, Mary Eunice could only nod. The ring on her finger suddenly dug into her skin, unfitting. Did she deserve it anymore? It didn't feel like God was her spouse anymore. No, she had dirtied the handkerchief, was undeserving of calling herself His bride. And the sole thought tormented her, it made her squirm.

_Is Lana safe, at least?_

“But I will not do that. The Lord, He has a path for you and it is not over yet.” Slender fingers stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “Yes, many plans for you still. You have no yet saved enough – if anyone and I am sure you know that your project with Pepper, though quite secret, was also successful in its way. You could not abandon it now – no. I think you can still do a lot as a bride of Jesus.”

Mary Eunice shook her head desperately. “I don't deserve that,” she attempted. “I am not worthy.”

The Monsignor waved his hand. “You're very devout, don't you worry. Miss Winters made it very clear when she tried to defend you as best as she could. Of course, her filthy, sinful mouth cannot but be biased – she harbors feelings for you that are dirty, and the Lord will judge her for them one day, but she was insistent upon the fact that your fault in this was close to none.”

“No, that's not _—_ I was a willing participant,” she argued, sliding up on the covers and propping against the pillows to gain some higher ground. “Please, don't punish Lan _—Miss Winters_ for this. She has only been a dear friend to me, I am the deviant one who _—_ who wanted more. I prayed the Lord to guide me and I mislead myself to believe that I could act upon my feelings. But she isn't at fault!”

The man's eyebrows rose to almost touch his hairline. “She has truly worked her magic on you. I pity you, Sister,” he smiled weakly, his chest heaving and the cross with it, bouncing and yet continuously glaring at her, “for you are blind with sin. It is Lucifer talking through Miss Winters and you must free yourself of his – _her_ – demonic  
possession.”

 _I’m not possessed! Please, stop_. “No, Miss Winters is innocent!” It was technically not a lie, either. Lana had never forced her into anything and was always very, very sweet. If anything, everybody was else at fault. With their gloomy shadows casting their darkness upon her frail frame. “Please, Monsignor, I beg you,” she fixed her pleading eyes upon his, allowing a tear to escape, “Don’t punish her for this. It’s not her fault.”

_And Lord knows she’s been through enough as it is. She deserves some happiness._

“You seem to be under the wrong conviction that I am planning of harming her in any way,” pointed out the religious man with a curious look upon his features. He smoothed his black shirt and cleared his throat. “She has killed Bloody Face – and thanks to the tape Sister Jude has provided it proves that he was, indeed, Bloody Face. Miss Lana Winters is a public hero, Sister.”

Mary Eunice frowned, regarding him carefully. The idea of Lana being finally free was too liberating for her to grasp it completely. Her hands reached into an abyss and tried to grab onto the ropes of comprehension, but it was a concept she had for too long contemplated to simply nod and let it be.

“ _Really_?”

She wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable in front of the man – he was undeserving of it, but she was only human.

 _Lana is free_!

“Yes, of course. She has saved the entire community, all women.” Disappointment painted its colors on his face as he added, “With what she has done, many dykes will come out to meet her for sure now. She cannot express herself freely – mind you, but she’s free, yes.”

Mary Eunice sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. It was sinking in, it was. But it felt like a dream, like only fantasy. Her index and thumb pinched her soft skin to reassure her, and even then, it felt impossible.

But some cruel cape still hung upon her, like a reminder of something she seemed to have forgotten.

“Your affection for her is very dear, Sister,” quipped the man with an almost comforting smile. He had that air to himself – even when he was being unkind, it felt like he was offering a sweet remark. “But it cannot go on, you understand that, right? If we wish to continue the Lord’s wishes – if we wish to respect Him, we must severe this, effective immediately.”

The young nun gaped.

“I must go now – I have many things to do, I’m sure you can forgive me,” he smiled gently, bowing to shake her hand and trace the sign of the cross on her forehead. It was an innocent gesture, one a mother might do to a daughter, but it uneased her. “Nurses shouldn’t be bothered with this, but I would appreciate it, Sister, if you did not interact with Miss Winters at all anyway. Though you are not a patient of Briarcliff as you are one of us, you are not to communicate with that woman anymore, at all. It’s part of the,” he paused on his way to the door and before stepping out, he exhaled, “spiritual recovery.”

Like the rain falling to the ground and hitting its mark to create a puddle that a kid might step into, jump on, destroy in a frenzy, she felt destroyed, jumped on, torn. Every tear that dripped down her cheek and every sob that shook her fragile body, every jolt of pain that came from her wound was a raindrop; she was crumbling.

It didn’t matter that she had helped Lana. She had sinned, had kissed her.

_It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? She’s safe._

She couldn’t even hold her promise to Lana.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's so much waking up done in this chapters, I feel repetitive  
> but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! can't wait to finish the last chapter and share it with y'all!


	3. Amor, Che Move Il Sole E L'altre Stelle (Love, Which Moves The Sun And The Other Stars)

“What a beautiful choice!” The woman at the flower shop chirped, a bright smile stretching on her wrinkled face, enhanced in the creases under her eyes. “Lilies are very romantic flowers, I would give them to my husband sometimes, as he quite adores them, but oh, my mother wouldn't have allowed it – and disappointing her even now is wrong.” She giggled, covering her mouth with a gloved hand; a pink flush creeped on her cheeks. “Except sometimes, but oh,” she waved her hand, “you must understand!”

Lana did understand. Perhaps if her mother hadn't imposed as many rules on her as she had, she wouldn't have buried her lover just last week. If she hadn't moved from her hometown and had been allowed to live happily with Wendy, Bloody Face wouldn't have noticed her. Or killed her.

_And you wouldn’t have met Mary Eunice, either._

The woman continued unbothered, wrapping the flowers in a red foil. “Are you one of those modern women, then?” _Yes, lesbians are pretty modern_. “Not that I judge! Sometimes men can make you wait forever before they declare their feelings for you – they need a gentle smack on the arse, every once in a while, to move them onwards, if you understand what I mean?”

The journalist simply nodded, glaring at the clock behind the plump woman. With the tiny spear pointed little below the nine and the thinner, longer spear indicating the ten, she knew it was eight-fifty.

_I have two hours and ten minutes before the meeting_.

“Are you planning on kissing him after you declare your love – or should that still rely on him?” The old woman wiggled her eyebrows. “I don't mean to pry, of course, but oh, well, I was just imagining it! With you being so pretty, I can hardly imagine any man not willing to jump on you as soon as you declare your feelings. It’ll be so romantic!”

_How sweet, that is exactly what I want in life. Men jumping on me._

The sole thought sent a cold shiver down her spine, accompanied by a prickling sweat on her lower back. She shifted on her feet, not trusting herself to even stand straight; to subside the stagger, she laid a hand on the counter and stabilized herself as best as she could. It wasn’t an easy feat, as memories of Bloody Face flooded her mind and nausea washed over her.

Bloody Face was dead, yes. But so was Wendy. She was alone, abandoned even by her last hope, last love.

She wasn't sure she could handle more heartbreak, anyway. The memory of Mary Eunice kissing her hard and promising her love swept over her as fresh as when it had happened – even if there was hope, the meeting being one, it felt like a stab in the heart. Anytime she reminisced the feeling of those small, wet lips on hers, tears dampened her eyes.

“My Bob kissed me first, of course,” rattled on the worker, pushing the flowers towards the journalist. “It was so romantic – he pushed be against a wall like a man, didn’t even let me say no, oh no! I was swept away by the intensity, my breath even caught. I still think of it as if it had happened yesterday – and, well, I'll let you make yourself a picture after that by yourself!”

The price tag indicated 8$. Lana eyed it tiredly, trying her best to ignore the old woman.

“So, who are they for?” Questioned the inquisitive woman.

“A dead friend's grave,” Lana grumbled; she slid a ten-dollar bill towards the woman brusquely – she wasn't really in the mood for niceties. And she hated referring to Wendy as friend. Why couldn’t she say lover? Why couldn’t she admit that she had once loved the woman, but it had been now taken away from Bloody Face?

Even after killing him, shooting the life out of his being, she was not free. Briarcliff did not hang on her shoulders, and yet its shadow clung to her by separating her from the bright-eyed nun and keeping her from showing her true colors on the streets.

Not that it mattered. Everything felt bitter now. Her apartment, empty, with its bleak shades and shapes, with a shadow casting right in her bedroom, scaring the Devil out of her. And that mission had been failed enough at Briarcliff – she didn’t need a reminder of any horrors past any step of the way.

Though shaken by the admission, the old woman called out after anyway, with a gentle smile on her lips, as if trying to completely forget what had passed. “Merry Christmas, ma'am!” She waved, as well, as the bell announced that Lana had left the shop.

Yes, it was Christmas. Joyous and commercialized Christmas – with trees cut down mercilessly only to be burned and released into the atmosphere as dust and smoke; it was a waste that Lana couldn’t help but participate in – or had, in the past years. Trees and trees bought and burned for the sake of decorating them and having them as fresh as possible for the short period that they stood.

But she had no need to buy one now.

The morning expanded as illuminated as the evening, with shops greeting her with large, glowing signs and the streets twinkling in the varying colors of the decorations. Everything glimmered and penetrated every citizen’s heart to entice joy – even the suburbs where she lived were cast in brighter hues and presented many colorful houses; their sights did not invite her to smile nor even nod apprehensively – instead, she felt like ripping them all apart.

For she had no chance to be as happy.

How much did it matter that she had killed a monster? Yes, she was a hero to the masses, the savior of women – but the only women she had cared about truly were either dead or hurt and endlessly separated from her. And all the other ones would jump on her throat and crucify if they knew the entire story.

It had been proved to her endless of times, but above all by the Holy Church locking up her Mary Eunice up in Briarcliff, not even allowing her to be contacted by anyone, just because she had been loved – wasn’t the Bible interested in promoting love?

_Love thy neighbor, unless thy neighbor is of the same sex and thou loveth each other romantically._

No, Christmas didn’t really have a meaning anymore. The weight of the lilies in her hands, their purpose heaved on her soul, made her despise every passerby that wished her happy holidays. No one even recognized her, despite the articles written about Bloody Face and her, his killer. A man on the street vaguely seemed to recognize her, when he stopped to watch over her with an almost dazed look on his face, but then a car passed and she hid in her own car before he could follow her.

It was a crazy feeling to be in a car and free to drive, when not even three weeks prior she had been locked up at Briarcliff dreaming of freedom. The wheel felt uneven beneath her hands, the smooth surface somehow digging into her palms. She could still remember what to pull and what to click, but it felt as if she were doing it through a mirror, observing herself rather than being an active participant.

It caused her distress, like it never had. She had always been a good driver. Ever since she was little, she had dreamt of driving and as soon as she found the opportunity to learn, she did. But her memory was not as good anymore – the buzz of the electroshock sometimes still reappeared when she washed her hands or sat down to write.

Sister Jude could easily promise meetings and offer help, earn her trust as best as she could by proving to everyone that Dr. Thredson was indeed Bloody Face; it didn’t erase the pain. And though she hadn’t had time to process everything back then, the emptiness of her house provided a great opportunity for thoughts to knock onto her mind and remind her of the scars.

The first day she was fully free – and alone at her house – she stripped herself bare, looked at her scars. There were so many that could fade into mere whiter spots, but the memories were still there. With each caress of her fingertips over any of the wounds and scars floodgates opened and tears followed. Any picture of Wendy that stared her down from the counters pushed her onto the floor in a fit of sobs. The Earth could swallow her whole and she would not care.

Monsignor Asshole had told her off that day – the accords followed in a blurry picture of held-back tears and a need to speak to Mary Eunice one last time. But it was a battle between Mary Eunice being stripped of her habit and their _sinful_ love continuing. Though she feared it so, she would have gone back to Briarcliff if it meant causing Mary Eunice less sorrow – she hadn’t been allowed the pleasure to protect her.

Hell bent she now strode to the entrance of the graveyard, the thoughts pushed down.

The weak light of a December sun in the deserted area cast low upon the dark land, illuminating the graves eerily. Every twig brushed by the wind sent shivers down her spine – the snow clung to the graves and flowers almost cover-like, offering a near blanket. Any animal that might run around in warmer days now cowered at the sight and hid in the nooks and crannies of the large trees stood over the landscape, their arms bare and shivering.

Through the matted alleys the snow clung low to the ground, footprints brown and sad upon the white surface. Lana followed uncaring, her own heels shaping holes here and there. Trained to look away from any trespasser, she hung her head low whenever somebody looked her way.

Miserable as they were, most people cast fleeting glances and returned to their prayers. She appreciated that, even if God could not solve any issue anymore.

_Perhaps it is their eternal salvation that they're begging for._ She shook her head, tossing her hair back to avoid spitting unceremoniously in a graveyard. _Don't they know the only Angel that lives is the Angel of Death and she is locked up now? She cannot save them anymore. All that matters is life and the battle to survive anything further is futile._

Wendy's grave was small.

Lana had wanted it to be big, but she hadn’t really been allowed to organize the funeral. Wendy’s family did it instead, though judgmental of her antics. Even in her death, they regarded her with spite and threw a Catholic ceremony.

_“Taken too soon, before she could even fulfil her dream of getting married to a handsome man and having children,”_ they announced at the funeral. The solemn and saddened visages of all that came – it was a surprisingly large number, all the children wanting to commemorate their teacher by bringing flowers – was what truly sent Lana off eventually. Tears brimming in her eyes, she didn’t spare one last glance at the grave then, but she did now.

It was covered by snow now, but the earth was browner than over any other grave. A sour reminder of how recent the death was, the novelty still catching Lana’s breath. Her breath hitched now, too. With a handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes discreetly, a whimpered sob escaping her lips.

_I miss you. And I hope you forgive me._

She crouched near the grave, uncaring of the snow melting on her pants and staining the fabric. With trembling hands she laid the flowers on the ground. Slender fingers grazed the surface of the grave, flinching at the cold. She smeared the top to clear it from the white blanket.

“You don't deserve to be cold again,” she murmured.

Wendy had been cold long enough, if he had kept her fresh like Dr. Arden. And though the grave beneath her was empty, an empty casket, the body burned by the monster to take even _that_ from her. Even after all the torture, he denied her one last goodbye.

A thick lump grew in her throat and she cleared it thoughtlessly. The cold back of her hand dabbed at the tears streaming down traitorously.

_This is unfair. It should have been me. He only wanted me._

A sweet voice rang in the back of her mind with similar uttered words, of regret. Mary Eunice had also thought she deserved it more than Wendy ever could. “You would have liked her,” whispered Lana. A choked laugh echoed in her throat and another set of tears flooded her cheeks, freezing in the breeze.

Would Wendy truly have liked Mary Eunice? She didn't like comparing the two, thinking of them at the same time, but it brought her even the least of solace to think of Wendy approving this, not hating her for the betrayal.

_If she approved, would I feel less evil?_

It was a notion that she couldn't help but consider every now and then. Because it was like cheating, on a dead woman, too. _I didn't know she was dead when I fell in love._ Did that make it better?

Guilt reigned in her heart like an Ice Queen, though the pain was akin to fire lit. Spreading and spreading until her whole body burned. Dead, rotten and black. Anytime she thought of it, Death seemed a kinder friend.

But Mary Eunice needed her, needed her help. _I would have helped you, too, had I known_.

After what felt like an eternity but what was at best an hour, she finally stood from the grave. Under the crack of her bones one against the other, the feeling of helplessness along with age crushed her further. Wendy would never grow old. And Lana would live and age.

Alone?

It was dangerous to dwell upon.

She took her sweet time to reach the car, the clock on her wrist showing it was twenty past ten. More than half an hour till the meeting.

In the car, she shut down her thoughts. It was easy to do, focusing on the still-difficult activity of driving instead. The café was in Boston, an often frequented little space that had customers of any kind coming in. Perfect for a nun and a lesbian journalist to meet at.

Sister Jude was already waiting for her there, a stern look flashing in her eyes at her sight. She didn't stand up to greet her, and so neither did Lana extend a hand.

A cold air spread in the room, as Sister Jude awaited a prompt for conversation. Again, Lana gave naught.

The nun sighed, then. “It might please you to know your friends have been freed from Briarcliff.” The nun slid the paperwork towards her, printed and neat. Official. “Kit Walker, stripped of all charges, as it turns out he was innocent, after all.” She flashed her a thoughtful smirk. Thin fingers curled around the paper and pulled it back, another set of paperwork instead being pushed towards her. “But you knew that already. Here, Grace Bertrand. Not innocent but the police declared her fit to return to society as she has aided to kill a serial killer. Nobody really cares about her own family, whom she's killed long enough ago for it to be swept under a rug now,” she flicked her fingers, “like dirt.”

Lana regarded her with a stale gaze, tapping her fingers nervously on the table. Despite being happy about the two and their chances, she could care less about them. Her mind only repeated Mary Eunice's name like a mantra.

“And Shelley as well, of course,” continued Sister Jude, the accent ringing within the buzz of chatter around them. “A nymphomaniac she might be, but she's aided you and that allows her to roam around the streets freely now.” A bitter laugh echoed. “If she is caught being too free about her sex now, it won't be Briarcliff's interest anymore. I certainly won't accept her under my care.”

“Briarcliff is bound to close down soon enough anyway,” noticed the journalist, an impatient look painting across her features. “You have greatly mistreated all your patients along with the faithful servants of the Lord, wouldn't you say?”

The old nun rolled her eyes. “This is what I've come to discuss.”

Lana sighed. “What is there to discuss?” Bracing herself for a storm, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have a right to sue you. Let me refresh your memory a little. You locked me up for no reason, kept me there under false pretences and who knows how many other people are there unjustly.” Pepper flashed before her eyes, and she wasn't sure why. But there was innocence surrounding the freak, kindness and childishness in her eyes. _And of course, Her_. “I can think of at least one.”

“Straight to the point, I see.”

_It's the only straight thing about me_. “You know I am only here for this, for her. You have no right to keep her there. She's helped me even more than the others!”

Sister Jude didn't offer a physical reaction to that, her lips only slightly pursing in thought. “While I am sure that she has helped in _more ways than one_ ,” the remark trailed away, pointedly, like a knife being pointed at her, “the Law holds little authority over her and therefore the procedures are different. She's a servant of the Lord and as such it is the Monsignor and, admittedly, me who can free her.”

“Then do it,” seethed Lana. It seemed painfully obvious to her that Mary Eunice had no place in Briarcliff anymore. She couldn't care less about the procedures. It was a human right, a bare truth, the one of the young nun not belonging.

The old nun deigned that with a glare. Without much ado, she put a hand on her lap and when it came back up, she held a folded note between her forefinger and index. When Lana went to grab it, she pulled it back.

A wolfish grin stretched on her lips. “I want something in return.”

Lana turned a deaf ear to that, aiming to steal the note once again. “Is this from Mary Eunice?”

“ _Sister_ Mary Eunice,” corrected the devilish nun. Something akin to a gleeful, cruel mirth glinted in her bleak brown eyes. “And yes.” The journalist straightened in her seat, anticipating another plea. “I need you to help me with something.”

It was absurd, the thought that the old nun might need something from her, after all that had happened. Even despite the rescue that had come, she couldn't help but feel uneasy in her presence. Like a stone scratching a heel.

She tried to push back the feeling, lock it in her mind's basement. Her fingers danced on the surface of the table and she breathed in heavily. “What is it? If you need me to save Briarcliff after all, you can't count me in. That place deserves a pyromaniac to lay a match in its center and burn that Hell down whole.”

“No,” scoffed Sister Jude. “I have intel that might interest you. And I think, if shared and published on some of your columns, it could become just as interesting as Bloody Face. Or nearly. Certainly your second best story.” At the mention of his name, Lana tensed. An icy wind swept her and she shivered. The old nun continued unbothered, as usual, “And it would pose as leverage against the Monsignor, weighing quite harshly on his opinion whether or not to free your sweet _friend_.”

The brunette didn't like the way she said _friend_. Or anything, really. Even now, it sounded like poison spat by a viper, intoxicating her in the worst of ways. She had no tact and no care. Lana had no doubt that the intel she was sharing was only a selfish disguise for saving her own back.

“You just kindly want to share your intel, with no further gain?” She tilted her head to a side, challenging her a smirk. “Just good, old-fashioned Christian kindness? Gossiping with a friend, nothing personal, is that what I'm supposed to believe?”

It was extremely satisfying for the fawn to kick down the wolf like that. She had promised she had horns – Sister Wolf was only getting a taste of her own poison. Like a giddy happiness envelops a child after successfully escaping a punishment, she felt unabashedly joyful at the sight of the slightly beat-down look on the cruel nun. Expecting instant surrender, Sister Jude had not warranted for this.

The old woman cleared her throat. “I want you to write an article. Today. You will do it quickly – the quicker you do it, the quicker Sister Mary Eunice will be freed, you see. I have an interview scheduled for you in an hour with a client about, admittedly, a missing man, but one the Monsignor hired. Or let just live in our sanitarium. Honestly, it doesn't matter. Just paint me in a good light.”

Though Lana knew where this was going, she quipped, “Good light?”

“Yes. Write me down as clueless of all the horror.” She looked down and batted her lashes sweetly, glancing up at the journalist with a faux innocent look to her eyes. “I am, after all, innocent. I am sure you can believe Dr. Arden enchanted me as he did many others. And his _creatures_ , to grow his tiny cock. All the experiments. But above all,” she hesitated on purpose, locking her gaze with Lana's, trapping her in the confession like a fly in a spiderweb, “His past. The skeletons in his closet locked behind a long time ago.”

Silence followed, the chatter and clutter of the café infiltrating her ears and crawling deep inside in a trapping experience of sounds and colors. The crack of the electroshock once again flicked before her.

_Skeletons. And what skeletons?_ She couldn't really remember the creatures, either. A vague memory of them scaring Mary Eunice when they met banged against a locked box in her mind, scattered and burned.

She clutched onto the table, her knuckles white. In a small voice, focusing on the one pure thing of the whole ordeal, she offered like a deal, “Give me the note and I'll do it. Spill all the tea, as they say.”

“Beans. They say beans.”

Lana waved her hand at that. Only with the note hidden in the in-pocket of her jacket did she relent into aiding the nun. What other choice did she have anyway? It was already the 20th of December – could she live with herself if she stole Christmas from Mary Eunice like this, out of selfishness? She hated that much of the sweet nun’s fate was in her hands, as if she was playing a game of cards and Mary Eunice’s freedom was the price – and if she failed, she suffered.

Her conscience weighed heavy under the worries.

The day went by in a hurry – she met an old man, crooked and yet trustworthy, a survivor. Even if his tale could be fake – and the man he was accusing was dead, making the accusations quite null – her heart longed to comfort the man, or to become like him. A Survivor, with a capital S, capable of change and hope. Of proudly saying: “I lived and I’m alright now.”

Perhaps one day she could. But now only Mary Eunice’s freedom mattered and despite needing perhaps days and days on end to recover from the interview and overall anything that had happened, she couldn't allow herself that.

At home, her hand trembled, tentative, before the switch of the lamp. Its light flicked bright red, glowing in the dark and shining through the creases of her forehead and around her mouth. She sucked in a heavy breath, staring at the lamp uncaring of the blindness that came with it. A knot tied in her throat.

Hastily, she turned off the light.

Through the cupboards she rummaged for some candles. “Fuck, I'll need to buy more,” she cursed when she only found a small one in the back. A part of her knew she could just turn on the lights above – she couldn't see the lamps, never had she looked at them. But the sole idea of a lamp churned a bile in her stomach.

Not yet.

It was miracle enough that she hadn't smashed the lamps yet. The thought had crossed her mind several times, the image of her kicking them down sending a shimmer of joy through her heart, like a spark. How nice it would be to handle a bat in her hands, wrapping her hands around the surface to squash down the entire world.

In the glimmering light of the candle settled near the typewriter, she sighed. The note near her heart dug her into her chest as a reminder.

_I miss her._

Sister Jude's assignment was vital, and yet she flopped a little on the chair, her legs crossed on top, and she pulled out the note. Tremulous fingers unfolded it yearningly. Like a hopeless romantic, she expected the paper to shine bright, as if reflecting the pure light that Mary Eunice was, like a treasure.

But it didn't.

Simple and small even unfolded, the note was altogether personal, intimate. Mary Eunice's hand-writing was shaky, like the one of someone who hadn't written in way too long – or a child, learning to write. It filled Lana's heart with affection.

 

_My dearest Lana,_

_I miss you so much. Sister Jude says I can't say much. So I only wish to say one thing: ILY. You're on my mind. And I can't think of much lately, but God_. _I think I can't escape this sin._

_With love **,** ME_

 

Lana couldn't help but smile, reread the note twenty times and then some more. Her eyes scanned the words carefully, drinking them in one by one. It was as if she was trying to take a photograph of it, save it in her memory as a picture, so that if she lost her sight, she could still read it over and over.

An intrusive thought clung to her, but she dismissed it.

She could easily imagine the scene, Mary Eunice writing and rewriting the letter. Worrying her lower lip, her teeth wringing into her sensitive skin. Blue eyes scanning the paper, watery and teary, some tears even smeared on the paper itself. Slender fingers wrapped around the rosary and small, pink lips whispering a prayer to the Lord hastily, in a way expecting protection and aid. Would she have her veil and habit on or not? She was still a Sister, so most likely. But she wasn't a nun anymore, was she?

She couldn't _escape this sin._

Yes, Lana understood that well. It brought tears to her eyes, caught her breath, but she understood it.

But as a kind nun once cited, ‘ _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it does not pride.’_

_I love you, too_.

She didn't write back to Mary Eunice, but she adjusted the typewriter and used the article for Sister Jude as a love-letter.

 

\--

 

The dull morning light peaked through the cracked window and reflected in the water that trickled from the melted snow. A cruel wind whistled in the small room, the breaths of air readjusting Mary Eunice's veil like a hand. Stands freed from underneath the material – rebellious, stronger than her meak self. With trained hands and self-taught rules that the other woman disregarded she played chess. Each pawn that fell reminded her of herself – a fallen pawn she was, an unwanted piece in the game.

Since she had kissed Lana – _Miss Winters_ – and gone out of the hospital four days later, she was stuck working with Pepper only. It was a ‘courtesy’, as the Monsignor and Sister Jude regarded it, lest she fall into sin once again. Couldn't have her dyking around with some other patient. As if what she felt for the journalist was a mere sinful experience she had done out of craziness. Like a maddened, sex-crazed, lust-filled maniac.

Pepper was nice to be with. Kind, sweet and loved to sing. Mary Eunice didn't need to go to the playroom to hear _Dominique_ 's tune all along, in sleep and in prayer, in game and in meal. It was like salt on an open wound and yet she clung to it despite the pain, yearning for some sort of inclusion.

She'd never thought she'd miss it.

“It's your move, Mary!” Exclaimed the woman excitedly. The large smile upon her lips swelled a sweet feeling in her heart. She couldn't help but smile despite the lone tear that glassed her eye.

_It's just the wind. And if isn't, I deserve it. Lord knows I shouldn't have ever done anything._ She grazed her lips thoughtfully. _Then why do I yearn to do it again oh-so much?_

She bobbed her hand to shake away the thoughts and focused on her pawns. At Pepper's pawns positions, she bit her lip to avoid a bitter remark about the rules. Instead, she sighed and nodded, playing along with the faux rules.

“Alright—.”

The wind thumped against her, knocking her off her seat slightly as Sister Ambrose opened the door without announcement. Sheepish and scared (everyone was, now, any nun that had to talk to her feared her sinful desires – but didn't they know she only desired Miss Winters?) the nun opened and closed her mouth repeatedly like a fish gasping for air. Her tiny eyes darted from Mary Eunice to Pepper – another feared criminal, _ironically_ – and to the chessboard.

Her hesitance gnawed at her heart, spread in her chest with anxiety and had her wringing the beads of her rosary deeper into her palm. But she couldn't trust her voice to speak up first. A knot tied in her throat like a stop sign to her vocal cords.

“Uh,” the Sister began, whimpering a little upon Mary Eunice’s gentle but clearly scary gaze. “Sister J-Jude—she asked for you. Your presence.” She paused, eyes widening and then she bobbed her head as if remembering something. “In her office, that is.” Quickly, as if fearing the Devil to jump from around the corner, she made the sign of the cross and kissed the actual cross on her rosary. “Now,” she added when Mary Eunice didn’t move.

Sister Jude wanted to talk to her.

It made sense, of course. They had their weekly appointments to discuss her ‘treatment’. Nothing particular, just more prayers than usual. The cane hadn’t even been laid on her buttocks yet, which surprised her, but Sister Jude waved it off as part of the treatment, repentance: she needed to earn spiritual forgiveness before she fought for physical forgiveness as well. Which was unusual, given how easily Sister Jude used her cane on anyone.

But she couldn’t complain. They had taken her own leash from her, but it was for the best. Miss Winters wouldn’t want her to hurt herself, wouldn’t like to come across new scars on her back – not that she’d have reason to, of course, but it’d be uncomfortable if she did. She accepted any other form of punishment, then, as if she were a mere patient in this hospital, and wouldn’t complain.

She felt like an observer to her own actions as she stood up. Her legs moved on instinct, without any conscientious indications from her. Pepper became a mere grain of pepper in the distance as she roamed through the hallways, led by the frightful nun. The other’s entire body trembled like a leaf, as if Mary Eunice was on the verge of grabbing her and pulling her down. Her own hands played with the hem of her habit nervously. But she was an outsider to this.

Everywhere she looked people looked down upon her, fearful; they looked away. Her spirit, however, floated around uncaring. Like when she had talked to Shachath. But Shachath was not here now, she was alone.

Would Sister Jude punish her fully today? It was too early for their usual appointment. Fear crawled on her back like a spider at the thought of a caning – she wasn’t ready, the past scars still stung too hard on her bum, she didn’t need any more. Sometimes she couldn’t sit, because her buttocks twitched. It was an experience she was through with.

The door to the old nun’s office glared at her in its magnificence: it was not large and yet it was imposing, judgmental. It reminded her a lot of that time she had gone to Sister Jude’s office to serve her punishment for having let Miss Winters in.

The memories sent a pang of pain through her heart, stabbing it like a tiny knife. If she hadn’t let the journalist in, none of this would have happened and though she did not regret falling in love, she regretted all the pain that came with it – nay, she regretted Wendy. She wouldn’t have died, then.

Or maybe Miss Winters would have as well? It frightened her to think of.

Half raising her hand, half pushing it forward, with clenched fists, she knocked on the door weakly, _fearful_. Like all the others around her, in a way. But she had a reason. The stern nun was not one to fight with and she could easily end a life if she wished.

Not a minute passed before Sister Jude called out, “Come in!” and with that, Sister Ambrose left in a quick strut and Mary Eunice pushed the door open.

The moment the office appeared in front of her, everything stopped. With tears brimming in her eyes and her breath catching in her throat along with a lump growing, her vision blurred. Like a zooming camera, she focused only on one sight. She bit her lower lip to contain a squeak. Her hands clenched into tighter fists, the beads of her rosary digging deep into her palms but she couldn’t feel it.

For there was Miss Winters – _no, Lana_. And she looked alive and _free_. Mary Eunice couldn't help but gape, her jaw falling slack. It was refreshing. Months ago, she had been free, too, of course, but she looked different now. Sharper and more experienced, but there was a gentleness to her features as well, a softness.

At the young nun's awe, the older woman grinned. “Good morning, Sister,” she greeted.

“Hullo,” breathed Mary Eunice, laying a hand on the doorframe to stabilize herself. She felt like a hurricane was sucking her in but instead of trapping her, it twirled her and freed her from all that is evil, gifting her with only salvation. Like Dorothy, but better.

Her eyes kept scanning the journalist, unable to look away. Earthy brown eyes met with blue ones, locked and remained fixed, a fierce bond establishing. Did anyone dare break it? It would be cruel. With her gaze, she wanted to express all that words couldn't come close to saying. _I miss you. I love you. Can I touch you_? Her skin itched to trace the plump lips of the other woman. _Could I?_

The old nun cleared her throat. “Sister,” she growled. It lacked her usual anger, like it had for weeks – Mary Eunice wondered briefly if the authoritative nun was feeling alright, if perhaps a slow illness hadn't come over her. A doctor wasn't here to fix her, though. “Do sit down, right there. Yes. Sit down.” She motioned to the chair next to Miss Winters’, a significant distance establishing itself between the two.

Mary Eunice positioned herself on the chair awkwardly, averting the brunette's gaze lest she lost herself in it once again. Sister Jude's glare upon her frame wasn't lost on her, instead burning like a large, expanding fire. She couldn't trust herself not to fall victim to her temptations, but the old nun worked as a great stop sign. Like Michael Angel with His sword punishing Satan to Hell, she was being instead torn away from it, as if she hated the flames. But didn't He know she preferred the fire to the meak, lack of feeling altogether?

“Look at me,” ordered Sister Jude sternly. Mary Eunice’s doe eyes landed on those sharp features and fixed them. Tears watered her eyes, but she swallowed them down. _Not now._ “Do you know why we're here? All of us?”

Mary Eunice shook her head weakly. Stealing a glance towards Miss Winters, she noticed an awkward tilt to the woman's stance as well, as if she was displeased of something but daren't show it. The beads cut through her flesh as she resisted the urge to comfort her. “No,” she voiced her response, remembering how impatient Sister Jude was. She didn't like it when people simply shook their heads, it was an act of disobedience.

Her Superior scoffed. “You can't even make a stupid, simple guess?” But upon Miss Winters’ stern glare, the old nun reiterated. “As you know, the Monsignor is not very forgiving towards your case – or he wasn't, really. But,” she fumbled through the papers on her desk and pushed a newspaper towards Mary Eunice, “things have changed. He still remains unbothered, as one may say; he doesn't care about where you end up and thus we can act on our own terms, per say. That is to say that whatever you may decide, we are free to do, and he will not stop us. Granted, if you'll wish for the moon, he'll deny it. Of course, you have disappointed him greatly, but he’ll now let you do whatever. Do you understand?”

Mary Eunice regarded her with a weak plea in her eyes, the glint of fear at being called _stupid_ again twinkling here and there. Her lower lip wobbled as she shook her head.

Miss Winters sighed, extending her hand to lay it upon hers, then retreating it in an afterthought. Mary Eunice wished she'd done it. “She means you're free to leave, Ma- _Sister._ And you're also free to keep on working here, as long as you wish. It’s entirely up to you.”

_It doesn't make sense_. Miracles usually didn’t happen to her and this clearly was one. “But why would he allow me this?”

“Can't you _read?_ Even just the headline?” Barked the nun, earning Lana’s immediate glare again, steadfast.

“Be nice, Jude,” warned Miss Winters, a dark shadow casting upon her eyes. There was fierceness there. Like a wolf protecting her pack, she stood guard of Mary Eunice. _And she felt safe._ “Read the headline, if you will. It's sort of self-explanatory, really.”

The blue-eyed nun grabbed the newspapers tentatively, letting her eyelids fall to scan the words imprinted there clearly.

 

**_CHURCH OFFICIAL “SOON-TO-BE CARDINAL” MONSIGNOR TIMOTHY HOWARD HIRES NAZI DOCTOR_ **

 

_Oh._ Below, the article's headline continued with an under title that seemed to nearly mock itself, given the writer. “ _The skeletons in Briarcliff's closet and the experiments of a maniac exposed._ ”

She paused, her breath catching in her throat. She wheezed but she hardly noticed. Her thumb stroked the words mindlessly, nearly testing the waters for peril. _It's all here._ She daren't go further down, her mind focusing only on the words it had already understood. Like a mantra, they rang back in the hallways of her brain. But were they safe? They really weren't, the spoke of _him_ after all, and nothing regarding him was safe. _Is it all here?_

The only way she could go and find out was through reading, but anytime she saw ‘ _Briarcliff_ ’ in the next line, she short-circuited. It was too much. Too much information. Too many reminders. Too many locks unfastened. Too many doors opened. His ghost still hunted her far too often in her dreams and wake. Not even the understanding of her freedom could prompt her to relive it. Relive his hands and wet mouth trailing along her, and the crippling fear that she could feel crawling on her back now along with the chills. It was something only nightmares were allowed to show her, for she had no control over them. However hard she tried, there was no power there. A dark shadow enveloped her in its embrace now. Its breath reeking of panic and hopes crushed. It traced the outline of her lips and neck, following a path she didn't want to consider. Couldn't think of.

Tears dampened her cheeks in their wake, too.

A deafening sound of crackling paper pulled her out of her daze. Numbly, she registered her own hands wrapped around the paper, tightly squeezing it, as if they could erase all the words. But she didn't _want_ that. “Oh, I'm sorry—.”

Lana's delicate hand on her shoulder interrupted her apology, and she looked down at it in awe. _Aren't you angry?_ As her teary eyes conjoined with the gentle ones of the journalist, the woman smiled. From what it seemed, she had spoken, too, but Mary Eunice hadn't heard her. Slender fingers smoothed her habit absentmindedly. “ _I’m_ sorry. It's _him_ , isn't it? He still haunts you. I shouldn’t have made you read this.”

_I asked for this_ , she chastised herself bitterly. None of the blame fell on Lana.

But Mary Eunice didn't want to speak of this here, now. There was a certain lack of privacy in the knowledge that Sister Jude was with them, observing her prey like a hawk, her light brown eyes ignited by a fire of judgment.

_No_ , she couldn't do this.

A sob gurgled from her throat and she bobbed her head in a silent agreement with Lana's question. No words willed themselves out through her lips, but she knew Lana didn't judge that. And luckily neither did Sister Jude.

Part of her thanked the old nun for not intruding, not speaking out. It was unlike her, but she was offering it like a gift. _A Christmas gift?_ And yet she stood like a wall between her and Lana. For as long as she stood guard, Mary Eunice couldn't even trace the outline of the woman's face as a comforting feat freely, without fearing a punishment. For in sin there were consequences, and even in pain there was no safety.

_Only God can save you, Mary. You should know better by now that life doesn't come with a safety net. Only a trapping net. You're but a frightened hare and everyone else is your hunter; God almighty can try and save you from the arrows and bullets and yet your flesh is a disappointment to everyone either way. What can anyone do with a hare? Who can they feed off? You're useless. Hopeless._

But didn't the Monsignor say she was free, now? _No, it doesn't work like that, Mary._ Asylum _has two meanings, but yours is only one. Ye, who seeks asylum where it comes in the form of entrapment, don't you shame yourself so?_

A chair creaked loudly in sliding towards the young nun. It hardly bothered Mary Eunice, who merely stared at it curiously, her lower lip parting from its top with a pop. She was too dangled in the rope of thoughts to register anything.

Her eyes didn't part from the empty space before her as strong arms fastened around her waist and thin fingers met on her back, digging into the soft of her skin. Like a lifeguard. Pulling out her of the cold, frenzied waters, Lana held her. Uncaring of Sister Jude glaring a hole in their beings. And so despite the fear that came from lack of knowledge and from the fears that reemerged one by one, she wrapped her own arms around Lana's neck, her trembling fingers grabbing a handful of that beloved, brown hair.

She sobbed into the shoulder beneath her, sniffling the snot that ran from her nose. The clothes were too neat to stain with her _stupid_ , wet nose. A tear bumped the bridge of her nose and fell from its end and onto the fabric. One or two warm tears dampened her own habit, too, with Lana's mouth pressed to it, whispering nothing and everything.

Mary Eunice couldn't hear her.

“I'm sorry,” she mewled for no reason at all. It seemed right to apologize. “I'm so sorry,” she repeated, despite feeling the other woman shake her head on her shoulder. _I am sorry, let me. I truly am. I’m a mess._

“It’s okay,” murmured Lana, stroking a circle on her back. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

The warmth of the embrace brought her down. A searing pain still spread in her chest and but the wheezing and sobbing subsided. She squeezed the older woman one last time before forcing herself apart, laying her hands on her lap and looking down on them shame for her outburst.

“Finally.” The old nun sighed, circling around the desk with a roll of her eyes painting a quirky picture on her face. Her thin lips pursed tighter and her brows furrowed into a scowl. “Alright, I will let you two just catch up. Or whatever you two dykes need to do.” Lana grabbed Mary Eunice’s hands pointedly. “I’m only doing this for you.” She didn’t specify, shaking her head.

“Just go, Jude, go with the Lord or whatever.” The journalist freed one hand and waved it with a half-smirk drawing on her plump lips. That the young nun found herself drawn to. Again. “Have fun.”

“Just remember to choose what you want to do, Mary Eunice,” reminded the old nun before opening the door and locking it quickly, lest any bugs or nuns came in to spy.

Mary Eunice glanced at their intertwined hands, a wistful smile drawing on her small lips. Her thumb stroked the smooth of Lana's skin. Lana's free hand cupped her cheek, onto which Mary Eunice relaxed with a sigh, locking her eyes with the ones of the older woman, where the more she looked, the more she found her certainty.

No longer a patient or a fugitive, the woman looked splendid: shoulder-length, curled hair embraced her face like a halo; her cheeks, basked in the bright light peaking through the window, colored a gentle pink, a simple blush that grew the more the blond nun gazed at her, expanding to her neck – a creamy neck covered by a red and black scarf that hung low, exposing the edge of a reddish scar; a contained but sweet smile painted across her plump, lipstick-glazed lips and it reflected in her bright, gleaming eyes.

Mary Eunice wanted to never stop looking, locked in this gentle dream.

Entranced as she was, she missed the other woman speaking. She jerked her head to the side, chastising herself for the distraction. But she had missed her so, had seen her face in her dreams more times than she dared admit, and yet now that she saw her in wake, she found it more beautiful than ever. Gentler. Kinder.

“Mary Eunice – are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yes. How are _you_?”

The older woman paused, exhaling through her parted lips. Her shoulder tense and the hand on Mary Eunice's face dropped to lay on their twined ones. “Tired. More than I care to admit it. It's like living in this Hell sucked all the normality out of me and now I can't live in the real world.” _Not alone_ , it seemed to imply. “But I've come here for you.” A gentle light twinkled in her glassy eyes. “It's so unfair. What they've done to you. You should hate me by association – I should have helped you and—.”

The young woman tugged at her hand to interrupt her. “There was nothing you could have done.” She wasn't sure her message was getting across if the disappointment in Lana's features was an indication. It was worth a try. “You helped me, anyway. You're here now.” She chuckled under her nose. “My knight in shining armor.”

_I don't deserve you._

Lana chuckled as well, biting her lower lip pensively. She turned to the side, as if debating between disagreeing and agreeing, her lashes casting a long shade on her cheeks like a brush painting on a canvas. But Mary Eunice didn't want her to overthink now. Freeing one hand, she laid her palm on her warm cheek and caressed it, her thumb hovering over the lips.

A strong urge to bite that lip herself tugged at her being and she ducked her head in embarrassment. Giddy, like a girl awaiting her gift doll, she watched the other woman expectantly. She batted her lashes and gazed from between her bangs, the single strands of hair slightly covering her view and revealing the older woman like through a veil.

_This is it_. She could lean over and taste those lips again. Would Lana take the hint and kiss her now? She tilted her head forward to aid her, her lips parting slightly and then puckering in a hazy change of mind. Inching slowly and carefully, her fingers digging into the soft skin of the woman's cheek. It was like a dream, one she could replay endless of times and never get tired.

_The image of Lana curling her fingers around her free hair and—._

A bony finger on her lips stopped her. “No, wait.” _What?_ _Oh no. I messed up._ “It's not that I don't want this.” She sighed, deeply, and sucked a large amount of air into her mouth as if to contain thoughts. “I just can't. It's not right, you haven't even chosen yet.”

“Chosen?” asked Mary Eunice in a small voice. Tears watered her eyes shamefully and she looked away, a feeling washing over her like a wave.

Sensing the distress, Lana hooked a finger under the young blonde's chin and prompted her to lock their eyes together. “Mary Eunice,” she threaded carefully, grazing the other woman's jawline comfortingly, “you are still a nun. Legally, it wouldn't do me well to kiss you. I know I did that once, but look at where that got us. I wouldn't want you to get hurt – and if us kissing might severe any of your chances of freedom— I wouldn't forgive myself. Not that kissing women in general is safe, but women of God. Well, you get the clue.”

_Oh._

A part of her knew that she should have expected that – she could never have both: the Lord's grace and Lana's love. In the Lord she had sought protection and safety, had tried to run away from those who had harmed her; in the Lord she had found a sense of security, but she knew now just how false it had been – with Lana, however, she was safe. Loved. There was no judgment. The Lord was kind, and yet possessive, in a way. Couldn't she love more than one?

_Beloved Lord, hollowed be thy grace – I cannot keep on._ This wasn't nor felt like a betrayal. Though her heart ached with a pain that spread throughout her chest and beyond, she couldn't help but see righteousness in this.

Like illuminated by a Godly light, approved by Him, Lana was a vision. Everything about her shone gently. Even the sharpened edges and the softened corners were befitting of her. And wasn't it right – to seek an Ideal, someone who could fulfill every requirement? Perhaps never a wife, or a husband, but did she yearn for that anyway?

If this was simply Lust speaking through her, she'd let it devour her.

She didn't wait to voice her choice before her fingers threaded Lana's hair and her mouth closed on the opposite woman's own. Searingly and like a mariner finding his main land, she pressed upon those lips insistently.

And as hastily as she made the decision, she parted. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You. I choose you. I'm sorry.” Worry seared its hold around her throat, choking her and she pushed back; the chair screeched with her haste movement, but before she could stand up and deny everything, a hand curled around her wrist and brought her down.

“ _Mary Eunice_ , stop. ” The hand eased its hold and stroked gentle caresses on the reddened skin. “Fuck, sorry.” Lana brought the wrist up, then, to her lips. Featherlike, she laid a kiss to the sensitive flesh, sending chills down Mary Eunice's spine. Glazed eyes – filled with _something_ – watched her intently. When the journalist spoke, her voice wavered, “ _Me_?”

“Who else?”

Lana shook her head, disbelieving. “This deal. Me freeing you—you don't have to actually to run away, you know? It can even just allow you back into the other wings, to work with any patients you might desire to work with. It's—it's not exclusively to be with me.” She paused for breath. “I'd totally understand if—.”

Mary Eunice twirled her hand around to lay it on the woman's lips, if only for a second. “Lana,” the sweet blonde murmured, “I am not choosing you because you've done this. I told you, I—I love you.”

“I love you, too,” replied Lana hastily.

“When I think of God,” she continued, “I know you think I should see this ancient, bearded man. And I did, for a very long time. His image haunted me as much as it comforted me. In a way, I convinced myself that fear was just as good as love, for I hadn't had a better example.” Gulping harshly, Mary Eunice looked down at the cross on her chest and hooked her fingers on it. Twisting herself a little, her back aching more than usual, she pulled it off. The wooden shape laid on her hand heavily – with sin? “I do love God. I love the idea of Him. I pray to Him, but when in dream – and sometimes in wake as well, I don't see _Him_ anymore.” Wringing her fingers into the object, hissing at the pain, she exhaled. “I see you.” It burned her, to hold it like that. Like a sinner scorched by hellfire, she carefully laid the cross on Sister Jude's desk. “And so _this,”_ the habit, the cross, the coif and veil, “doesn't represent me anymore.”

“Are you sure?” Mary Eunice couldn't help but feel a warm tinge of love spread in her chest at the tenderness of the question. The soft tone, the uncertainty. “Aren't you afraid?”

_Terrified._ “Aren't I always?” To demonstrate the importance and clarity of her choice, she grabbed at the hard fabric of her coif.

“Wait,” whispered Lana almost fearfully. “Let me?” Her long fingers hovered over the material, expectant. At Mary Eunice's nod, she grasped at the coif, nearly trembling. “Do you trust me?”

Mary Eunice didn't deign that with a simple response, instead inching closer to the woman – the action itself unhooked her coif and as her lips locked with the plump ones of the older woman, her coif and veil fell upon her shoulders. She sighed. Her fingers grabbed a handful of Lana's hair, mimicked by Lana's in her own. Short fingernails scraped her scalp sending a surge of heat down below.

Her lips parted almost on instinct, as if she had drawn those lips like a map thousands of times before and yet it was all new altogether. It was a dance, but there was no music. Hands trailed lower, to tease the nape of Lana's neck, urging the woman to lead the way for any further action.

Despite the maddening need for air, she didn't part for long, their breaths coming in short before they locked again. Lana's right hand weakly grabbed at the collar of her habit, desperately attempting to free it somehow, while her other hand trailed the outline of Mary Eunice's jawline and coming up higher to dig into the hollow of her cheek.

When she felt something wet tracing the entrance of her lips, she didn't pause, instead opening her mouth to the opportunity. The warm muscle explored her and she allowed her own tongue to follow in kind, mapping Lana's teeth and tasting her fully, entranced in this new research. She was a scientist – now free of title, she could teach herself enough math or whatever and become one, right? Her science? Lana.

As Lana's lips parted from hers to pepper kisses on the edges and then cheeks, she giggled. Everything felt blurred, clouded by their desires and needs, and yet she had never felt surer of anything.

Lana looked gorgeous, with her lipstick smeared around the edges and yet her lips as if not more crimson than before. She appeared positively _ruined_.

“Wow,” whispered the journalist, chuckling. “You'll have to abandon the order more often, I think.”

Mary Eunice worried her lower lip giddily. She bobbed her head though she was unsure why. “Kiss me again,” she muttered shyly, gazing into the lust-filled, nearly black now eyes of her _lover_. “Please.”

The older woman didn't need more encouragement, locking her arms around Mary Eunice's neck and searing her into a passionate hold, lips pressed tightly and yet not forcibly. Their lips did not part entirely, but it felt just as good, just as important. Plump lips moved against smaller ones with experience, teaching and studying copiously by herself and together both. It was a partners’ union, they were equal even in the inequality. Every breath that mingled tasted sweet and sour – and salty, too, with tears they hadn't noticed shedding. Hands roamed freely and shyly, unwilling to go _further_ but also to stop whatever was happening.

Mary Eunice briefly realized she could stay like this forever, seared into a kiss she had never bargained happening again. Apocalypse could flood them and she wouldn't care.

Involved as they were, they only jumped back from each other – _slightly,_ less fearfully than they would have dared before – at Sister Jude's insistent clearing of throat. “Dykes and ladies, this is not the time and place, really. Keep your tongues out of your throats in the sacred temple of the Lord, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sacred isn't a word I'd use for this place, what with the torturing and the brainwashing,” quipped Lana, a gleeful smirk grazing her swollen lips. A thumb stroked circles on Mary Eunice's left hand, their other fingers interlacing caringly and searingly. Lovingly.

Sister Jude snorted. “Lucky a knight in shining armor has swept in to save these poor souls, then,” she grinned, revealing a perfectly white set of small teeth, baring them like a wolf.

_Why has it lost its power_? The thought nagged at her brain, beating into the creaks like a hammer. Sister Jude had always been cruel, what smoothed her edges?

Lana, however, had other matters at mind. “You listened in, old hag, didn't you?”

“Oh,” gaped Mary Eunice.

The old nun tsked, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “I gave you a room to begin a passionate affair,” she noted, drawling her words slowly, “don't judge the gift-giver for wanting to see the reaction of the lucky person.” She crossed the room and stood behind Mary Eunice, overshadowing her like a wall. “Besides, I didn't listen in to everything. Only the beginning and when I stopped hearing you I decided to put an end to whatever you were doing.” Sister Jude scoffed. “Rightfully so, I would have soon caught you going South on each other and then what?”

“Stop _it_!” Hissed Lana, glaring at the old nun. “We got it, you've saved us.”

“You didn't have to,” breathed Mary Eunice shyly, looking down sheepishly, “we wouldn't have gone further.” Her eyes skipped from finger to finger, then looked up at Lana. “We're not animals, Sister Jude. We know this is your office.”

_Thou shalt not lie,_ but neither shalt thou kiss a woman as caringly _. And yet my lips itch to meet hers again. Ignore Sister Jude. Who is she to judge us?_

“Right,” scoffed the old nun, nodding pensively. Her gaze landed upon the coif, veil and cross set aside. “I see you have made a choice.” Mary Eunice bobbed her head in response, twisting around to watch the woman warily. “You want to leave the Order.” She tsked. Callused hands grabbed at the fabric of the veil and brought it to her face, where the old woman grimaced sadly and threw the material on the floor as if it disgusted her. “I understand that, yes. But this is not all. You must undress of your habit, do you understand that?” The young blonde didn't want to. _I sew it myself. I like it._ “And your ring. You can't walk around with a ring that underlines your union to God. That would be as ungodly as anything you have done lately.” She nodded again. “Yes. That's right. Undress.”

Mary Eunice gulped, digging her palms harder into Lana's hands. “H—Here?”

“Where else?”

Lana sighed. “She means – with you here?” Her eyebrows cocked upwards.

“I can leave. I need to call Pepper, anyway.” At the two women's puzzled looks, she elaborated, “For a change of clothes for you, missy. You're now a free woman and must dress as one. I think we have enough clothes of patients now gone either physically or mentally to allow you a fresh start. Go off into society or something.”

The mention of the pain patients have undergone settled low in her stomach. She shifted in her seat awkwardly even after Sister Jude left. Things past could not be helped, but anxiety crawled beneath the cracks in times like these, when she was reminded of what she had allowed to happen. Sure enough, worrying did no good, but could she ever forgive herself for her own ignorance, her own lack of care?

Lana nudged her to undress. With every inch freed, Mary Eunice struggled to cover her scars. Scars of this place. Beatings she had thought just by virtue of being a _dumb_ martyr, but how many more did the patients have? Could she ever beg for anyone's forgiveness – and would any action fully absolve her of her sin?

_Our Lord and Savior_ _can freely watch over, but are we helping at all by seeing only what we wish to see and by punishing those who are hardly in need of it?_

Nausea pulsed in her throat and elevated to her mouth, through a burp. She couldn't stand it. Couldn't, quite literally, stand. Legs staggered backwards like of a drunkard fool.

The gown beneath the habit wasn't holy, but it held the _purity_ of the job within. Like a wedding dress. Was she allowed to keep it? It was immoral to keep something as precious and ‘godly’. She had panties beneath – she could keep those.

The lack of the gown fully revealed the pink and white _cracks_. “Mary Eunice?” She swallowed the lump in her throat hardly, averting the older woman's tender gaze, but the other woman didn't relent. “Are all of these from Sister Jude?” Mary Eunice jerked her head to the sides shamefully. Her lower lip wobbled. “Hey,” Lana's hand cupped her chin and stabilized her carefully, “don't cry. I understand. It's okay.” She pecked Mary Eunice on the lips quickly, as her hand trailed the scarred skin. “They're ugly, as all scars are.” Mary Eunice's breath hitched. “But they're part of who you are. At least you're safe now.”

Mary Eunice sniffled loudly.

This time when Sister Jude entered the room, the young woman managed to cover herself up in time and part from Lana just enough not to arise suspicions.

“Lana Banana!” Exclaimed the freak, throwing the clothes to the floor to run to Lana and shake her hand excitedly. “Mary has missed you, oh yes. Whispered your name in her sleep, she did!”

At Pepper's wholehearted but failed attempt at a wink, Lana snorted. “How sweet,” she mused, her eyes twinkling with glee. “I must inquire further on that, I suppose. Take me up on the offer to meet again.” _She cares about Pepper. Nearly nobody does._ If Mary Eunice didn't love her just enough before, she did now – and more. Pride filled her chest sweetly, spreading everywhere and gracing her with warmth. “Jude, I have discussed people to free, as you may recall.” Her index flicked towards the frightful woman. “Would it be possible to somehow revisit her case?”

“Why would we do that? She committed an infanticide!”

“No, no, _no, no_ ,” chanted Pepper along them, as Mary Eunice pulled on the high-waisted, vastly too large grey pants, “ _no, no, no_.”

“I have reasons to believe she hasn't—.”

“No, no, no—.”

“Pepper, shut it!” The odd woman closed her mouth hastily after yapping one last ‘no’, her kind eyes looking down sadly. It made Mary Eunice's heart wrench. As if moved by a traitorous instinct to please everyone and everything, she extended her hand to comfort her.

Struck by a moment of sudden clarity and justice, she raised her hand. “Wait. Let me talk to her,” she proposed in awe. Azure eyes pleaded the journalist to understand. “And you two can discuss the matter outside?” _It won't help our case if you two are here_.

Though disgruntled, the two women sheepishly left the room (Lana cast her one last sweet glance, before locking the door).

Once they were alone, the white walls serving as witnesses, listening in and judging, Mary Eunice grabbed Pepper's hands within hers and smiled. “I know you're innocent.” _God, if He exists and I truly heard him, told me so. Dear Father, please, let me be right. Lord be our witness, look upon this frail soul – how could she ever cause harm? “_ Infanticide is not something one can forgive, I know. And I am not God, I cannot judge nor free anyone of sin. But I know you're not cruel or evil.”

The other woman shook her head violently. “Judy says I'm bad. You believe so too!”

The former nun exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I used to.” _I don't know when I stopped. Perhaps never. Perhaps I still do_. “But you're a gentle soul, Pepper.”

Silence enveloped them lowly, clinging. Mary Eunice counted the time that passed within the beats of her heart, calculating the right moment to admit her purposes. The other woman was like a paused film, her jaw slack and her mouth agape – her bulging eyes peered over the small frame of the blonde. It looked as though she was watching, except for the lack of motion on them, and the glazed over look, as if everything had faded from her vision.

_She is waiting for an order of sorts._

“God has a plan for all of us and I believe yours isn't simply lying around in this institute.” Uncorked like a bottle of wine, the freak shot up and gasped. “I want to free you, Pepper. And I’ll—Humph—!”

Two bony arms tightened around her frame, digging into the soft skin of her biceps and embracing her like a ragged doll. “Oh, thank you! Thank you Miss Mary!” The chair behind her creaked as she stumbled upon with a grunt and she fought for balance by wrapping her arms around the skinny body as well. She sighed into it, stroking the woman's sticky hair. “Virgin Mary, Mary!”

_I am a virgin, but I am hardly Virgin Mary._ She didn't have to heart to say it out loud, instead acknowledging the excited exclaim with a hum. The small woman clung to her like a mussel. It was comforting, in a way.

Tears dampened her eyes. _I have to free her._ _She's innocent, I know it._ It bothered her that she had no certainties except Sister Jude's closet of lies, but she could not dwell upon it. What mattered was that she had a purpose and a will – and when there's a will there's a way.

“Yes, you'll be free.”

The older women caught them still hugging as they entered back into the room, but Mary Eunice didn't care much. Promising freedom to Pepper one last time under Sister Jude's sympathetic gaze, she parted from the small woman and rejoined Lana at her side.

“We must leave, now, Mary Eunice,” announced Lana, watching her and only her, her eyes set upon the illuminated, nearly angelic face of the former nun. “Roads will be clogged if we don't get back in town in time.”

Mary Eunice nodded, the lump in her throat impeding her from replying. Despite having no real attachment to the place anymore, she knew she'd miss it. _I will miss God._ Even if God had never even laid his eyes upon the freezing, cruel walls of the institution, she understood her own attachment. Tear-stained eyes caught sight of the habit on Sister Jude's desk and freed one last soldier. _Not one more._ She wouldn't dry her eyes out for this place, she couldn't.

On instinct, searching affection and care, she extended her hand to Lana's. Her skin buzzed where it barely touched the brunette, and it exploded in a quick stream of electricity as their hands joined and fingers interlaced.

She looked over at the older woman and smiled weakly.

“Go with the dyke God or whatever, now,” grumbled the old nun, settling herself on her chair as the two younger woman walked to the door. She waved her hand. “You know where to find me, until I am moved elsewhere.”

They stepped to the door, Lana leading the way, but before Mary Eunice could completely part ways and slowly step into a world with the journalist, she looked back.

The stern nun returned her gaze, pensive.

And she smirked.

It wasn't much, but hand in hand with a woman she loved, heart freed from a duty she could not uphold righteously and a promise to keep, she knew at least one thing.

(Not that it should matter as much as it did)

Sister Jude was not disappointed in her.

_Sister Jude was not disappointed in her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you following me through this journey, it's been hard. I wasn't motivated to finish this at all, I had no inspiration, but I'm happy to have finished it at last. I hope you like it and thank you all for being here!


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